


Ad Nauseam

by prinxing (ranithepirate)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Brothels, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Organized Crime, Platonic Life Partners, Romance, Slice of Life, Smut, Triad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 81,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5345885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranithepirate/pseuds/prinxing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yixing is an uneducated prostitute who only lives to die;<br/>Wu Fan is a fearsome leader who fights every day to live.<br/>Lu Han is a caged prince who dreams a fragile reality;<br/>Minseok is a monster who has tasted more blood than sleep.</p><p> </p><p><b>Title</b>: Ad Nauseam<br/><b>Pairings</b>: FanXing, XiuHan, platonic!LayHan<br/><b>Side Pairings</b>: BaekSoo<br/><b>Genre</b>: brothel + mafia au, romance, angst, slice of life, hurt/comfort, drama, smut<br/><b>Rating</b>: NC-17<br/><b>Length</b>: 17 parts (including prologue, intermission, & epilogue).<br/><b>Warnings (!!!)</b>: nine year age gap, blood/violence/gore, suicide attempt/thoughts, psychological health (depression/anxiety/delusion), self-harm, mentions of underage non-con (sex trafficking), some dub-con (they’re prostitutes), voyeurism, slave trade, dyslexia (+ ableism), hemophilia, derogatory language, drugs, blasphemy, death</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Rebirth.

**Author's Note:**

> Dystopian alternate universe where gangs rule and there is societal discourse. Set in a fictional post-British occupation of Asia around the late 1800s, early 1900s where western culture merges with east. There was no real sense of peace or order before or after the foreign army left. Life is at an unsatisfying stalemate; loan sharking, black markets, slave trade, caste, etc., all exist. Wealth and/or gang affiliation determine your status. Title is Latin, meaning “to the point of sickness.”
> 
>  
> 
> ***Written all in third person, but from Yixing and Luhan's POV. Keep in mind that this is both a FanXing and XiuHan fic (with LayHan in between), so expect an equal amount of everything (meaning lots of Yixing AND Luhan). The prologue is the only time it's written from Yifan's POV, and the epilogue is the only time it's writen from Minseok's POV.
> 
> I made a lot of artwork for this fic on AFF, so [click here](http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/948446) if you wanna check them out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 873

Yifan’s most lucid memory is of the night that he lost everything, of flames licking up the concrete walls, curling onto the ceiling and leaving everything in sight ablaze. The searing heat is unbearable, surrounding him and choking him as the thick black smoke makes his eyes water. His lungs and throat sting painfully as he scrambles onto shaky legs, disoriented and unsure how he ended up where he was. The back of his head hurts, and when he reaches to touch the tender area, he comes away with blood dripping down his palms. Fear spikes in his chest when he sees his bloody hands, finally feeling the slick stickiness of it soaking up the back of his sleep shirt.

Before he can process what is going on, two men covering their mouths with rags break open the sliding doors of the burning room. Yifan turns around quickly to look at them, brows furrowed and a question on his lips, but he finds that he doesn’t even know what he wants to ask of them. Without even a second of hesitation, one of them easily slings Yifan over their shoulder, lanky and awkward as he was at the age of twenty-two, and together the two men carry him out of the burning building.

They stand a ways off from it, watching it come down in flames. Yifan can’t peel his eyes away, mouth agape as the red and orange lights dance, clouds of black smoke billowing into the sky. Hours later at the hospital, when the ringing in his ears is long gone and the blood oozing from his throbbing head has stopped, he finally understands that the mountain of charred remains amidst all the other residences on the blackened street is what’s left of the place he once called home. When he dares to ask, he learns that the flames had swallowed everything once so precious to him, his entire family gone within an hour, leaving Yifan as the sole survivor of the Guangzhou fire tragedy. He had nothing to his name, nothing, except the Wu Fong, a gang of loyal men whom his father cultivated carefully for decades.

At twenty-two, the responsibilities of the Wu Fong are thrust into Yifan’s trembling, ash-covered hands—a feat that had always been meant for his elder brother since they were young, a duty that Yifan never once imagined himself fulfilling. The gang itself isn’t much when Yifan becomes boss, but with nothing else to lose he takes almost too well to the title of _Duizhang_ , exceeding any expectations the people had of him. He fits into his father’s shoes better than the man himself, grabbing hold of the reins with unbelievable confidence and authority.

It was with his observant eyes that he sensed the potential for the Wu Fong to be so much more in Korea than they were back in their home country. With that goal in mind, he spent the next two years building up their reputation, proving himself time and time again to be a notable leader, one that made intelligent and vital decisions far beyond his age. He had a way with words that should have been marked illegal, snake-tongued and clever-witted as he was, and with a face like his it was hard for anyone to refuse him.

At only twenty-four, he negotiated their way into the triad, a task that had almost been too easy when taking into consideration how many had lost their lives in their own attempts; as a result he became the youngest member to ever lead a faction, and the rumors that trailed after him blew up. The stories and speculations about him only continued to climb sharply from that point on as he started taking over the Korean black market; one of his first moves was to purchase a prominent brothel in the red light district, one that turned out to be a key piece in his chess game of wealth. He knew that the brothel was gilded at best, shiny exterior with a rotting interior that needed the funding to grow into it’s true potential. Under the Wu Fong, El Dorado flourished, and within two years it transformed into the most renowned brothel in the underground. Yifan’s name, coined as Wu Fan in Korea, had brought the place the illustriousness and recognition it needed to thrive.

Since then, Yifan had taken control of almost all the trades and markets in the country—he was thirty-two and thriving like a god, the world at his feet. The people feared him by making him out to be a sleeping monster, whispering tales of his past to keep the youths off the streets at night. They called him the Dragon Head, the living legend—to them he was mysterious and all-powerful and forever impending. But it was only when he reached the very top did he realize that he was living out his father’s dream, that somewhere along the way he’d completely abandoned who he was. Lost in his thirst for the game and pleasure of the challenge, he’d truly _become_ Wu Fan, the infamous Dragon Head.

Ten years ago, the real Wu Yifan died in a fire along with the rest of his family.


	2. Part One: Shards of Glass.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 4,505

“Have you ever thought of getting out of here?”

Startled by Lu Han’s sudden question, Yixing’s hand clenches tightly around the cloth he was using to wipe down the table. _Sometimes,_ he wants to say, chewing on his lower lip as he holds himself back. Yixing has dreamt of taking a walk outside the walls of the brothel, allowing the heat of the sun to soak deep into his bones and not worry about anything anymore. But those dreams are just that—dreams. It doesn’t do well for people like him to dream.

After a beat of hesitation, Yixing glances up to look at Lu Han. The longhaired man’s eyes are sparkling with anticipation, excitedly waiting for Yixing’s answer to his question as if it is the most important thing to him. Lu Han always looks like he’s got a plan just waiting to take action, but Yixing gave up on a future the day his parents sold him without a second thought. “What brought this on?” Yixing responds with a question instead of answering properly, continuing to clean the table and indulging his friend.

Lu Han simply shrugs in response, just sighing as he leans over the portion of the table Yixing had cleaned, looking lost in thought before he speaks again. “Sometimes, when I’m too tired to move, I stare out the window and think about flying into the blue sky,” he admits almost shyly, drawing circles with his fingernail onto the polished wooden surface. He doesn’t leave any marks behind but Yixing’s eyes follow the movements anyway, as if committing to memory each perfect circle he draws, clinging to whatever Lu Han gives him because Lu Han makes him feel whole and Yixing is addicted to that feeling.

He can’t resist Lu Han any more than the next person, although for reasons different from others but not too far off, either; after all, Lu Han is the brothel’s main attraction, with a face more beautiful than any woman’s and a lean body toned to perfection. His earrings glitter whenever he moves, these dangly, golden things that catch the light and accentuate his soft pink lips. He is like an angel trapped inside a living hell, and Yixing has yet to understand where Lu Han finds his will to continue living, or how he manages to replenish his endless supply of happiness while trapped here along with all the other escorts. Even though Lu Han serves the underground society’s elite, it doesn’t change the fact that they are both prostitutes, even if Lu Han is a higher end courtesan.

Part of Lu Han’s transparent white silk robe falls away when he shifts, revealing a creamy, lean shoulder, the smooth expanse of skin practically glowing in the moonlight filtering through the open stained glass windows. It makes Yixing self-conscious of his own blemished skin, attention breaking from Lu Han’s distracting movements and instead swallowing uncomfortably as he adjusts his itchy cotton work robes. “There is nothing for me out there,” Yixing reminds Lu Han after a few seconds of contemplation. It hurts to say it aloud, but it’s disgustingly true. “And anyway, once people realize my only skill is spreading my legs, I would just end up in a place like this all over again. No one cares about undesirables like me, Lu ge.”

Lu Han jolts up the second the wretched words pass Yixing’s lips, a heavy frown pulling down the corners of his small pink mouth. He looks less human when he’s not smiling, face too beautiful for their abysmal reality, long hair so sleek and black as night, his pale skin almost translucent with round eyes startling and uniquely hazel. Suddenly, all his ruthlessly beautiful appearance does is remind Yixing of his own inadequacies, jarring to see the way the smooth curves of Lu Han’s face are accentuated by the white light pouring in from the window behind him, forcing Yixing to look away. In his own wretched sort of way, Lu Han is the closest Yixing has ever come to believing in a god, as though the older man could see right through him every time he opens his mouth.

Most times, Yixing knows that he can.

“Hey, don’t say that Xing,” Lu Han exclaims, his long fingers wrapping tightly around Yixing’s thin wrist in an attempt to pull him out of his dark thoughts. When Yixing doesn’t look up from where he is furiously scrubbing at a non-existent spot on the table, determined to never take back his words, Lu Han grabs further up his arm and tugs with both hands. When their eyes finally meet, Yixing can see a deep sadness embedded there, something akin to a mixture of pity and overwhelming love, and it sends a sharp prickle of shame running down his spine. “You’ll have me, yeah? We’ll get out of here together, just you and me. I’ll love you even if no one else will, promise.”

Just like that Yixing’s heart swells a thousand times its size, not from hope, but affection; he knows that Lu Han would love him regardless of what happens, but the honest truth is that Lu Han has an even smaller chance of getting out than Yixing. If Yixing escaped, it wouldn’t matter to anyone. He is easily replaceable; as an escort he doesn’t even have a regular clientele, just strings of two to three strangers a night. Lu Han though, he is a _courtesan_. He is responsible for a long list of wealthy and influential patrons that come only to see him specifically, paying a hefty price for a little bit of his time whenever they come in. Just as Yixing is addicted, there are others who are even more entranced by Lu Han’s doe eyes, by his toothy grin, by that silken voice. Lu Han is the poster child of their esteemed brothel, the crisp photographs of his beautiful black and white smile passed out in flyers far and wide, inviting many hopefuls and receiving only the cream of the crop. He is practically a prince in his own right—the brothel’s Madame would surely slaughter them all before ever letting him go.

But truly? Lu Han’s situation is the worst imaginable; he can only delude himself into believing he is anything but a pricy whore. He is doomed to rot in his fancy room adorned in expensive gifts and looking tragically beautiful tangled up in silk bed sheets, smelling of costly scented oils and sex until the day he died. He’s been here since he was a small child, raised surrounded by fornication and rape and a shady culture so foul it was hard to look without feeling sick. Lu Han has seen and experienced more horrors in his whole life being a so-called prince than Yixing has since the first time he was forced into submitting to someone.

Even Yixing gets so caught up in the illusion of it all that he forgets sometimes that when Lu Han smiles, it never quite reaches his eyes. There is a fakeness Lu Han has forced into existence, an imaginary universe he pretends to live in, and a sense of false hope in his heart that could make disciples out of skeptics. Lu Han believes in the unbelievable, too far-gone for there to be any hope in bringing him back. And yet, Yixing envies that ability; their lives have them in a chokehold, but Lu Han sees only a tender hug.

However, Yixing doesn’t need to tell Lu Han this—the elder understands his own reality better than anyone else. Yixing has heard Lu Han’s screams of terror echoing through the hall when he’s alone, the horrid nightmares wracking his entire being until Yixing crawls into bed with him and offers comfort in any way that he can, much like tonight. The two of them spend the night awake and in each other’s presence, holding each other together with touches and words, as if Lu Han hadn’t been half-asleep and crying into his cotton robes like he couldn’t breathe not even an hour ago.

So, for both their sanities, Yixing forces on a genuine smile. He’s gotten quite good at those; his dimple even comes out and everything. Just as seamless and perfect as Lu Han’s. He’s learned, with time, to take everything with a grain of salt.

“Thanks, Lu ge.”

 

x x x

 

The brothel, El Dorado, is built to look like a grandiose hotel in the large, swanky red light district. It is a rather massive building in size; the interior is extravagantly decorated compared to the simple exterior, but if you looked closely you could see the peeling wallpaper and chipping gold paint. No one really cares to stare that long though, but when you’ve been on your back staring up at the ceiling for as much time as Yixing has, you begin to notice the little things. Of course, the imperial wings on the top floor where the courtesans entertain important guests in extravagant rooms are impeccably furnished, but when the objective is a quick fuck that you can barely afford, it never really matters how nice the room is.

The El Dorado is made up of three buildings front to back, the front most a six-story hotel with an atrium that looks down at the ground floor which houses a lobby, a large casino area with booths and tables, and then there are smaller, more private entertainment rooms inside the hallways dividing the walls along the main hall. There is a long walkway down the center of that leads towards the lobby in the back with a lounge in the front of it. The center walkway is brightly lit like a runway, but towards the walls it becomes darker and more sensual. It looks like a cross between a castle ballroom and a nightclub, with its marble floors, fancy Persian rugs, textured golden wallpapers, and mood lighting. Connecting only from the lobby is the three-story brothel behind the hotel, more lavish than the first building. There are two entrances to the brothel, the first of which are two curving staircases that frame the lobby and lead to the second floor of the brothel; the other entrance is behind the front desk of the lobby leading to the first floor. The third building contains the gardens, servant living quarters, and other more communal areas that outsiders don’t see.

The running hours of the El Dorado are Thursday to Sunday from five in the evening to three in the morning, and guests who wish to check in for the night with a prostitute are allowed to keep them as company until six in the morning, after which the prostitute would slip away. As a low tier escort, all of Yixing’s clients are the kinds that check in for an hour or two, sometimes less, but never more—there are other prostitutes for that. Yixing can’t bring himself to make conversation the way they can; it is as much a language barrier as it is his own anxiety.

Despite appearances, the brothel portion itself isn’t very big in terms of capacity since it has only three floors; the first two floors are for normal customers who aren’t planning on taking long, meanwhile the third floor has many halls that house the nicer rooms for longer stays, serving the most important of clients—a handful of the wealthiest patrons even have rooms reserved for only their use. The clients that come aren’t that wide in variety, mainly the upper and middle class, sometimes foreigners or gangsters, and typically more men than women on a daily basis.

Despite a lot of things, El Dorado is among the nicer brothels in the country—possibly the best one in the region and most definitely the largest. It is one that Yixing is extremely lucky to have been bought by, especially for someone of his low-class caliber as he is a foreigner and has no real skill outside of moaning when he is supposed to. If it hadn’t been for Lu Han, there is a high chance Yixing would have never been accepted into the brothel in the first place. Without him, Yixing would have died a long time ago.

El Dorado is owned by a very powerful and influential Madame called Kwon Boa; she isn’t around often, but she has a commanding presence, one that keeps order even when she isn’t there. The strict security keeps the guests from harming the prostitutes and entertainers, enforcing simple rules to ensure that the goods stay intact, although every now and then a too-large group of gang bangers would show up and demand entertainment. At that point it would be near impossible to handle without some rules being bent and ignored for the sake of peace.

Now, gangs are a whole different story in this underground district. It is scary when they pass through because there is no _real_ sense of control; nearly every gang member has some sort of dangerous weapon on their person that they aren’t afraid to use. However, seven years ago, four years before a slave trader handed over Yixing in a bargain, the infamous Dragon Head of the Wu Fong claimed the land as his own. Instead of causing a scene, he simply purchased the area that the brothel sat on from Boa on account that she remained the Madame of the place, which was honestly unheard of. Gangs never allow outsiders to have control over their territories, especially the ones under the triad umbrella. In the end, no one dared to question it once the deal was set in stone; Boa was a legend after all, an authoritarian woman of high rank and power, seen as an equal to even the most important of gang leaders—minus the murder.

The Wu Fong, who at the time were in the midst of making a mark on the underground scene, are now one of the biggest factions of the triad, and the largest in Korea; their name has since been keeping other gangs out rather effectively. Of course that doesn’t mean _their_ gang members are any better—they are still terrifying, pushing around prostitutes like garbage, but death tolls and physical abuse have dropped significantly. Yixing personally has never heard of the Dragon Head himself making an appearance at the brothel, not since the day he bought it, but he is known to be something of an enigma anyway.

Yixing has _heard_ a lot about Wu Fan, but he doesn’t _know_ much of anything. He’s heard of the infamous Dragon Head whose body is larger than the devil, with rows of teeth sharper than knives, and pitch black eyes that can burn holes straight through your soul. It’s been said that he truly looks like a dragon, that he has so many tattoos of the severed heads of all the people he’s killed that no flesh can be seen, that he can kill a man with only a glance, that when he speaks his voice comes from inside of your head and controls you to do his every whim. Over time his supposed appearance mostly became spun lies told by adults to make their children behave and keep them off the streets at night, so no one of little importance really knows what he looks like. Nevertheless, they say that the moment you lay eyes on him you will know exactly who he is, and that alone is frightening enough.

Honestly, Yixing is glad they never crossed paths.

“Xing,” Lu Han’s concerned voice finally breaks into Yixing’s endless thoughts, and the younger man blinks up to see a disgruntled Lu Han above him. “You need to pay more attention. We need to convince the Madame that you can pleasure our patrons, but we can’t do that if you keep spacing out like this. I hope you don’t do this when you’re actually working.”

“Sorry, I’ll try harder,” Yixing apologizes, but he doesn’t think that will be happening anytime soon; he’s never found much sensation in sex, even when it is Lu Han inside of him or visa-versa. They love each other, but not as lovers. Sex with him is like sex with anyone else—normal, monotonous; it is his career. But he can fake it though, just as he fakes everything in his life, and he fakes it well. He allows Lu han to tightly fist his wavy black hair in those long, pale fingers, watching as the elder’s pretty face contorts with pleasure. Yixing lets that sensation overwhelm him, the rush pushing him over the edge. He comes dry, both because he’s already been bedded two times that day, and because it was self-forced. Not the most satisfying for himself, but it was never about him in the first place. Customers are the priority, after all. That is what the acting was for.

“You did well,” Lu Han compliments, panting and sweaty as he lies next to Yixing, still too beautiful for reality. Yixing just feels disgusting, but that feeling doesn’t really ever go away so it’s not because of Lu Han. “Moving you up to the third floor is half the battle. We can figure out how to escape once you have more time to yourself and less people watching you.”

Yixing stares up at the ceiling, counting the endless dust motes in the air before sighing, his breath sending the sparkling particles in every direction. Later that month, after the Madame beds him for the annual assessment, she pats his thigh and says that he has what it takes—however the psychological blemishes on his body from the years he spent as a sex slave are the only thing keeping him from being “moved up.” She doesn’t tell him the complete truth though, she’s always been too kind for that; the truth is that he isn’t smart enough, interesting enough, or alive enough on the inside anymore. He is filthy and tainted, lacking the classiness and intellect needed to hook in the big spenders. Cheap, used goods have no value if they can’t fake being new and expensive.

But for now, he turns to smile at Lu Han, agreeing with his words but not putting much belief in them. The elder notices the doubt swimming in his eyes and takes a hold of Yixing’s hand, squeezing tightly. “We’ll get out of here, Yixing. We’ll live in a mansion and have hundreds of people tending to our every whim, just you wait.” The sparkle in Lu Han’s eyes makes Yixing giggle and he nods, squeezing his hand back before staring back up at the bleak ceiling once again. The distance between now and death seems endless and yet Yixing can already predict his future without batting a single lash.

He’s going to die here.

 

x x x

 

Yixing spends a lot of his time inside his own mind. He prefers it there, finding his thoughts far more interesting than reality. When he isn’t serving customers, he is doing chores, normally cleaning because sometimes he gets so caught up in his thoughts he forgets what he is doing. At least when he is cleaning he can’t forget what he is supposed to be doing, even if it meant cleaning the same area more than once. He doesn’t talk very much, or interact with people that aren’t Lu Han more than necessary. This is partly because Yixing was afraid to speak, and partly because many of the other prostitutes think Yixing is mentally slow and useless in general. It also doesn’t help that Yixing still can’t even speak Korean properly, at first unable to understand or respond when addressed to, but after being spoken at for so many years, and with some help from Lu Han, he’s managed to catch on what is necessary.

Even though Lu Han is a firm believer—well, the _only_ believer—that Yixing is smarter than he seems, the younger can’t help but agree with the world that looks down at him. When he was ten years old, his parents took him out of school because no matter how hard Yixing tried, he couldn’t understand what was going on in class. All the students would read and write and paint easily, sometimes with just a little assistance, and over the years they’d master it and move on. But for Yixing, the words were always swimming. The characters looked like shapes and those shapes told him stories, leaving him thinking about them in daydreams as he lost concentration time and time again.

Those daydreams never did help him read; he never passed the primary grade.

No one knew what was wrong with him, or cared enough to find out—no money inversely meant not even bothering to find a doctor—so his parents took him out of school to save face. After three years of hiding him from the public like he never even existed and working him to the bone, and after even more preceding years of his parents’ lack of livelihood starving them all and drowning their family in debt, Yixing was sold off to some Korean debtors for enough money to buy dinner. Later that same year, he learned by chance that they were killed in the petroleum plant explosion tragedy in the Guangdong province; his mixed feelings kept him from mourning them much.

Yixing spent his early teen years in the Korean slave trade, cleaning and cooking and doing menial tasks that normally left him in cuts and bruises because he couldn’t even speak his own language properly, let alone a single word of Korean. It was at seventeen when one of the traders found better use of him, his wrists tied together as he cried and writhed underneath the deadweight of another man. Yixing hardly remembers the time he spent as a sex slave, even though it was over only three years ago; the sedatives they force-fed him and the self-repressed memories did well to aid in that, but even to this day he’s still not sure if he’d rather get beaten to death by his parents for never getting anything right, or get cuffed and beat into having sex with terrifying strangers.

Getting sold to El Dorado when he was twenty had been a massive upgrade in his life, but just because he no longer got beaten as badly or cared about who he was spreading his legs for, didn’t mean he was any happier.

Yixing had tried to kill himself once, so utterly exhausted from letting others define his existence. All he’d wanted was some semblance of control over his future, to discover true peace of mind through his own strength. It had only been a few weeks since coming to El Dorado, and when he finally had time to himself it seemed like such a good idea—climbing into the dirty old bathtub and slitting his wrists open with a knife he’d retrieved from the kitchens, bleeding out in a tiny little bathroom. He’s always bled so easily, hazardous amounts from even the smallest of cuts, and the crimson color was the most pure and beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He watched in awe between consciousness and unconsciousness as it oozed out of his body, so rich and brilliant against the grayed porcelain tub. For someone who felt like ugliness had become what he was, he’d never felt more beautiful than in that moment.

Lu Han had found him though, just before he’d truly lost himself to the void, and the elder bandaged the cuts with diamond tears spilling from his eyes. Any other person would have turned a blind eye, leaving him to his own devices and alerting someone after he’d finally passed on. Lu Han has always been different that way, had been the one to save his life not just once, but twice now, and so many other smaller times than Yixing knew to count. The older man hadn’t said anything to him while he took care of Yixing’s wounds, visibly upset and angered. It had taken days before he’d look at Yixing again, let alone speak to him, and Yixing had never been more ashamed before in his life.

Since the moment they’d met, there was a strange bond suspended between them, an inexplicable sense of understanding that exists even now. They hadn’t known each other very well at the time of Yixing’s suicide attempt, only in passing, as they were in such different statuses and never really had a real reason to see each other otherwise. The other prostitutes bullied Yixing ruthlessly for his poor education and lack of Korean vocabulary, not to mention the burning jealousy over the fact that Lu Han only ever paid attention to Yixing, especially when the courtesan never seemed to notice anyone apart from patrons. Lu Han has always helped Yixing get away from them, and that act alone only deepened the bond between the two of them. Yixing came to learn that the coldness Lu Han held himself with was only a shield he wore in front of others because Lu Han had always had a hard time trusting anyone.

“We’re going to leave together,” Lu Han had finally muttered a few weeks after the incident, voice hushed and somber, sidling up to Yixing and locking their gazes. The genuine pain in his expression was the one thing Yixing never wanted to see again, even if it had taken permanent residence in the sparkle of the elder’s pupils since long before they’d met. His grip was tight around Yixing’s forearm, trembling hands the only other giveaway of his sincerity. Lu Han had always been aloof and untouchable to the others who worked here, and of all the people he could have selected to love and care for, he’d chosen Yixing and Yixing alone—the one person who probably needed that kind of support the most. “You can’t leave me here, not like this, not by myself. Okay?”

There was fear and loneliness in his eyes when he spoke to the younger man, the first time he’d shown any weakness, any hint of the real Lu Han that had been buried deep inside a long time ago, and Yixing grappled at whatever line he’d been thrown like his life depended on it.

And in a way, it did.

When it came down to it, Lu Han and Yixing weren’t very different at all; it was something he realized in that exact moment. When Yixing agreed to Lu Han’s promise, he couldn’t even bring himself to cry. He didn’t try to kill himself again, not when he knows it meant hurting Lu Han a second time, but he never stopped thinking about it either. The scars have not healed completely, both the physical and emotional ones, a constant reminder that he could _leave_ whenever he wanted.

But as long as Lu Han is by his side, Yixing is nothing if he can’t bear a smile through it all.


	3. Part Two: Skin Deep.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 6,503

“You’re so beautiful.”

If Lu Han lost a second of his life every time he heard those words, he’d never have been born. That doesn’t sound too bad, actually. His smile widens; it feels as though it’s cracking around the corners, but he’s stared at his reflection long enough to know that it won’t. It never would.

“Thank you, my lord,” he says, and means it. He only has his beauty to his name, after all; he’d be nothing without it. Lu Han licks his lips, long lashes fluttering as he undoes the ribbons down his front. The room is stiflingly hot.

He almost wishes for winter, but then he remembers how cold it gets when he’s alone.

 

x x x

 

Lu Han wonders what the ocean is like. He’s heard of the salty smell, of the feeling of sand between your toes, the cold ocean water lapping at your knees—

“It’s time for your bath.”

His head whips up from where his gaze had been fixed on his intertwined fingers to the familiar woman at the double doors, the same one who comes in every morning to bathe and dress him. Lu Han feels a bit off-kilter when he realizes that he’d been seated primly on the couch in his suite all night long, as if he’d been waiting for a customer. He doesn’t have any scheduled today, and yet meeting customers is the only purpose he has to begin with. A strange feeling overcomes him and settles deep in the pit of his stomach right then, a kind of stale feeling, a feeling of being utterly useless, but he ignores it. It’s not his fault that he’s never allowed to go outside or do anything else; everything he knows of the world has been learned through books and the words of his clients, and that’s only if they feel like talking, which in most cases they don’t.

When Lu Han tries to stand, the fact that he’s been sitting like this for hours finally shows in the form of aching muscles. He can’t really feel his legs, but he doesn’t freak out over this either. He’s a very calm person when there is no one to impress, emotionless even. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, after all. He ignores it, as he ignores everything that frightens him; if he didn’t, he would no longer be beautiful, and then no one would want him.

His eyes naturally wander over to the open windows, following the little streams of sunlight filtering in through the intricately carved wooden shutters.

 _The sky is awfully blue today_ , he muses.

 

x x x

 

Above anything in the world, Lu Han fears being alone as well as the dark—that’s exactly what makes nightmares and the prospect of death so frightening to him. If you dared ask, he just might tell you that he’d always been like this: a silent beauty, detached from others and uncaring of anything. He wanders the halls like he always has since he was young, now more of a chore than initial curiosity as the years dragged by.

Childhood for Lu Han had been more or less a blur, but so many of those memories remain fresh even now. It is as if they are burned to the back of his eyelids so that every time he blinks, his breath catches as he barely tiptoes over the premise of a panic attack no matter how hard he tries to forget. To many he appears unscathed, pure almost. If only they knew of the things he’s seen, what he’s _felt_ firsthand. No, Lu Han is not the same person he used to be when he was a child; that person would have been tied up and thrown into the river where no one would ever lay eyes on him again, ugly and nauseating and offensive with every bit of space he took up.

There are no benefits of not knowing life outside the brothel. Lu Han would know, as he’s never stepped one foot outside the walls since he was born. His mother had been a beautiful Chinese prostitute, and he’d been the sickening result of repeated rape by the brothel’s previous Monsieur. When Lu Han was born it was obvious that he was the spitting image of his mother, right down to the sleek, dark color of his long hair and his lean figure, but he’d inherited the hazel green European eye color of his father, a dead giveaway to anyone who looked at him.

He was kept a brothel secret for several years, the Monsieur fearing for his reputation but unwilling to get rid of Lu Han and his mother. After he’d learned how to walk and talk, Lu Han was promptly separated from his mother, who returned to work while he was “cared” for by the brothel’s hired hands. Lu Han most vividly remembers likening the view of peeling paint inside of a small wardrobe to the iron bars of a cell, or to the flames that licked up the walls of hell, sometimes even at the same time. They kept him locked in there when he was being “bad” or even when they just didn’t want to deal with him. Sometimes they’d forget about him in there for days at a time, and the only reason he didn’t die was because he’d get so frightened of the dark that he would pass out within minutes, just sleeping and sleeping away the paralyzing fear of impending death until he was finally dragged out.

And yet, somehow, the worst always manages to come when he is awake. You’d think with enough time it would be harder to remember. At night, when he tries to think of all the good things in life he’s heard of, the stories his young mother would whisper to him in her native tongue of a time before she was kidnapped, all he can hear are the phantom shrieks and cries for help coming from the suites lining the halls he now strolls through. Lu Han usually hears them when he is alone; when he is aware of who and what he really is, when he opens his eyes and in the mirror all he sees are the little missing pieces of himself he’s given away to every person who’s ever looked at him and saw not a human being, but a pretty doll to be played with.

Change broke down the door when Lu Han turned eight, after the Monsieur used the rights of the brothel to pay off a large debt he owed to Boa’s mother, who in turn became the new Madame. El Dorado was not in any good condition at the time; more often than not, paying customers were pirates and thieves, and that was before gangs started taking over street corners and having turf wars, looting and damaging property. However, unlike previous owners, the Madame was wealthy, and she closed the brothel for almost an entire year as she released a few prostitutes and purchased others. She employed better servants and improved a lot of the previous conditions. The brothel was guilded, just temporary fixes that appeared permanent, but it was a huge improvement from before.

Much like Yixing, Lu Han’s mother couldn’t speak a word of Korean, but the Madame took a liking to her in the way that a person took a liking to a pet. She was treated better than she had ever been, and Lu Han spent the rest of his childhood as a servant of the Madame’s family whenever they stayed at the brothel. Lu Han was fourteen when his mother fell horribly ill, passing away after a year of fighting a losing battle. She was still so young, only thirty-one years old, and many customers were lost when she could no longer service. It was startling to know just how many people came in just for her, but what was even more startling was the amount of people who would see the beautiful servant boy trailing after the Madame and wonder how much it would cost to have him warm their beds.

Lu Han is only fifteen when he learns that his beauty is worth more than the rest of him.

With barely any time to mourn for his mother, Lu Han began courtesan training, and shortly afterward Boa inherited the title of Madame. Three years passed just like that when one late night a man with accented Korean and legs longer than humanly possible walked into the brothel. His eyes were dark below even darker eyebrows, hair black as tar and slicked back underneath a hat that shaded his handsome face almost menacingly. He wore a pinstripe suit and shoes that clicked on the tiled floor, the deep blue triangle tattoo of the triad practically glowing among the colorful dragons curling around his neck as he walked across the hall shouldered by goons.

His name was Wu Fan, Dragon Head of the Wu Fong, and in his large hand was a briefcase containing a ridiculous sum of money and a deed to the land, both of which he set on the table where Boa was seated, Lu Han standing only a few feet away. Wu Fan was barely twenty-five at the time and yet he spoke with the careful knowledge of a man twice his age, presence commanding as he stood before the Madame with his back straight and hands in his pockets. He said only a few words, no room for argument as he looked back at her dead in the eye.

Everything was his now.

 

x x x

 

The first time Lu Han laid eyes on him, Yixing’s wrists were cuffed together like a slave’s, his dark brown hair shaggy and long and plastered to his cheeks from rain or sweat, you couldn’t tell. He had a bruise blooming on his left cheekbone and a wet white robe clinging to his body, the metal collar around his slender neck attached to a chain held by a large, older man. Yixing still had a childlike look to him and yet his face was gaunt, shivering from the cold that winter brought in that year. By the looks of it, it seemed like the man was trying to use Yixing to pay off a loan he owed to the Wu Fong, arguing quite loudly with the brothel’s gatekeeper.

It wasn’t unheard of for small business people to come to El Dorado looking for an investment ever since the Wu Fong started running the strip. It’s easier to bargain here than with the gangsters down at the bank, especially if you had work slaves or prostitutes to fork over in exchange for money. Normally Lu Han paid them no mind, but Yixing didn’t look like the typical skilled Korean sex slave that gets sold off to the brothel for a hefty price; he looked terrified and confused, biting his lower lip raw as he took in the establishment around him and completely ignored the conversation of the men next to him.

“He’s a customer favorite! He’s certainly worth the few silvers I’m short of!” the man holding the chain explained loudly, looking frustrated and angry. “He gets the job done! He cooks and cleans and everything too, the full package.”

“He doesn’t even speak Korean! He’s beat up and obviously not trained, either. The Madame would have my head if we took him off your hands, even if you gave him for free,” the other snapped back just as loud, annoyed. “Take a look at him! I’m not sure what sort of slave trade business you’ve been running, but the El Dorado certainly won’t take in some Chinese work slave you beat into an amateur whore. Your broken little doll isn’t even worth half a bronze in a place like this.”

The first man looked just about ready to blow, face purple at being put in his place, but before his thoughts even caught up to him Lu Han was already stopping their argument. “Wait,” he called out loudly, walking out into the main foyer from his vantage point at the hallway entrance. He could feel curious eyes trail after him, surprised because he rarely ever made a fuss, but all Lu Han could see right then was the frightened Chinese boy staring right back at him.

It hadn’t been very long since an esteemed whorehouse in Qingdao gifted the Madame with four high-grade prostitutes, all of whom had mastered the Korean language, but even then Lu Han still remained the only Chinese courtesan. He didn’t mind it considering that he was respected and well known; Lu Han was tended to and taken care of almost as if he were the Madame herself. But there was just something about the way Yixing looked so helpless and exhausted, the way that dirty old slave trader had another human being leashed like a dog so disrespectfully, as if he really was worth nothing, that pushed Lu Han to speak up.

“Lu Han?” the brothel’s gatekeeper questioned, taken aback by the sudden outburst; Lu Han was already reaching for the chain in the slave trader’s hand. “What are you—”

“We’ll take him,” Lu Han said decisively, gaze focused on Yixing, who up close was practically shaking from the cold. Something like fury curled deep in the pit of Lu Han’s stomach, and he was so startled by this feeling that his breath caught. He’d never felt so intensely about anything in a very long time, not since he nearly starved to death in the wardrobe. It was different from his paralyzing nightmares, and it was nothing like the haze that shrouded him. Everything was suddenly so sharp, so focused. “You can tell the Madame that I allowed this, I don’t care, but he stays.”

The gatekeeper looked like he wanted to protest but Lu Han went straight to the slave trader instead, looking him in the eye. “You will be paid the silvers you need to level your debt, so free him immediately.” Lu Han then turned to Yixing, who still wasn’t sure if he should be afraid or not as he stared cautiously back at the courtesan. Another feeling of rage boiled inside the courtesan’s veins when he realized that Yixing didn’t understand what was going on because he couldn’t even speak Korean.

Lu Han offered a reassuring smile to ease the boy, reaching out and gently brushing the wet tendrils of hair stuck to Yixing’s pale forehead. “You’re safe now,” he whispered in their mother tongue, holding onto Yixing’s head with both palms, gently, as if the younger were made of glass. Almost immediately Yixing’s eyes filled with tears that could only come from genuine relief; he fell into Lu Han’s arms with heaving sobs as if a tidal wave had crashed into him, holding on as tight as he could to Lu Han’s robes despite his wrists being cuffed together. He sobbed as if Lu Han had dove into the ocean and rescued him from drowning, as if Lu Han had breathed the air into his very lungs, lips burning against his as oxygen injected into his veins like dynamite and brought him back to life.

“Thank you,” Yixing muttered in Mandarin against the warm skin of Lu Han’s neck, shaking so hard that Lu Han had to hold him up to keep them from falling over. “Thank you,” he repeated, and god he meant it so much that Lu Han felt tears prick his own eyes, kissing the crown of the weeping boy’s head and wishing all his pain away.

It was in that precise moment that Lu Han learned what love was.

 

x x x

 

Lu Han has an ability that makes him more special than any other courtesan in the area.

It’s not magic or some sort of supernatural power, but instead a method in the way that he holds himself, the way he speaks, the way he thinks. He has the ability to arrange his mannerisms to suit the needs of the person before him, to become what they want. Living in a brothel where people speak lies like a second language, Lu Han has learned to see through the words and straight into the people spewing them, as if he can read their desires and needs like an open book. He makes a living on first impressions, collecting them like solid gold coins in the long sleeves of his robes, shaking piggy bank hearts and giving them a reason to come back again and again for more.

Lu Han isn’t really aware that he does this, but he knows that he has a face that more than helps the process, and that is enough. There is a reason why he’s so popular, why so many people love him and want him even though he’s never even spoken a word to them. If you watched the way that he worked with a critical eye, perhaps then you could see the way he changes like a chameleon from person to person, then maybe you could try and resist, but _that’s_ the entire game to begin with: to resist the irresistible.

Some people are just too beautiful.

“It’s been a long time, Lu Han.”

For a second Lu Han forgets how to breathe as he stands in the direct gaze of the man speaking, not even fully through the doorway but feeling temporarily paralyzed with fear. He watches heads turn away from where they were facing before to set eyes on him, and Lu Han feels unsafe entering a room full of gangsters despite the fact that there are twice as many outside in the lobby where he came from. Lu Han counts eight of them as the door closes shut behind him, leaving the two servant women who had escorted him here in the main hall of the casino.

The pungent smell of gunpowder tinged with a hint of blood permeates the air, just as heavy and thick as the smoke of the incense and cigars that fills the room, but apprehension makes Lu Han resist the urge to cough or gag. He reminds himself to keep calm, releasing the shaky breath caught in his throat, swallowing thickly as he surveys the rest of the room. Of the eight men only two are seated, but Lu Han only pays close attention to the one who’d spoken, just barely remembering to lower his gaze respectfully in case he sets any of the others off.

Lu Han is not an entertainer nor is he meant for the rooms lining the walls of the casino, but he was not called upon by just any average person—he was called by the Dragon Head of the Wu Fong, the brothel’s main benefactor. Rules never applied to him; he is the king of the Korean underground after all, and in the red light district, Dragon Head is synonymous to god. Lu Han hasn’t felt this afraid for his life in a while. One wrong move and he’ll have a bullet between his eyes before his lips can even begin to sound out an apology; the very thought pushes him to speak.

“It has, my lord,” Lu Han replies carefully, glancing up again. “I was not expecting to be privileged with a second meeting.” Wu Fan has never shown interest in him before, not even when they’d met for the first time all those years ago when the Dragon Head had first come in through the pouring rain, Lu Han just recently eighteen and in the crest of his fame. It seems fitting that it is raining heavily again this same day, like fate is playing games with Lu Han’s repetitive life. He didn’t survive hell this long just to die on accident, although sometimes Lu Han wonders if his life is even worth living to begin with. He doesn’t think about that too much though, instead recollecting their last encounter. The way Wu Fan had first looked at him with such an indifferent expression had Lu Han believing that the Dragon Head doesn’t want anything to do with him, and yet, here they are now. They come back, they always do, but something is different this time and it has Lu Han on his toes.

The _Duizhang_ is just as handsome as Lu Han remembers, perhaps even more, all long legs and dark, enigmatic eyes. His charcoal hair is slicked back and his arm rests on the armrest, supporting the side of his head as he watches Lu Han approach him, resembling a coiled serpent waiting to strike. He has a cigar in one hand that he smokes languidly, and once Lu Han is close enough he can see all the intricate dragons tattooed on the parts of his skin not hidden beneath the Dragon Head’s open collar. They stare back at him menacingly, dancing in an eternal cyclone of ocean and flame, and Lu Han forces himself to lower his gaze back down when he realizes he’d been staring again. He notices that his hands are shaking and he shifts so that they disappear into his sleeves, away from sight.

“Revisiting the El Dorado has been under my consideration for a while now, actually,” the Dragon Head responds nonchalantly, tilting his head slightly to study Lu Han more carefully. “Although, don’t misunderstand. I came to meet with the Madame, first and foremost.”

To say that Lu Han isn’t surprised by his words would be a lie; it’s well known information that the Madame rarely ever makes an appearance at the brothel and normally meets by appointment only, not that Wu Fan needed an appointment. In fact, if she’d known that the leader of the Wu Fong was going to stopover, she’d already have been here a week in advance to make preparations. Looking at the situation it’s quite obvious that Wu Fan came to upset the balance of the brothel with some sort of purpose. For what, Lu Han still doesn’t know, but he just hopes that the Madame had at least been notified the second the _Duizhang_ had stepped foot in the establishment.

“Then may I know why my lord might have requested me? I can’t imagine someone like me could be of any interest to someone of your standing,” Lu Han questions, going a bold route of flattery even though he’s frightened, keeping his head and ignoring the rapid beat of his heart. The quicker they get through with this, the less amount of time Lu Han has to spend under the scrutiny of the eyes of the Wu Fong’s most elite members—his guards, better known as Talons. They were the leading members of the faction with their own individual responsibilities, the ones you actually saw in place of the Dragon Head, the ones you knew by name and face. Who else would be allowed to be in the same private room as the _Duizhang_? Lu Han just hopes he doesn’t have to perform anything in front of them, but he won’t have a choice if Wu Fan orders him to.

Even with the gurgling feeling of anxiety rapidly growing in the pit of Lu Han’s stomach, he strategically tucks a loose strand of black hair behind his ear, bringing attention to the long pale column of his neck. His silk robes are a deep blue and embroidered with fine gold thread, his favorite one, the sash bound tightly around his slim waist. He knows he looks beautiful with the a few thin gold bangles on his wrist and the way the collar of his _hanfu_ dips a bit more than most, displaying the smooth hallow of his throat. He’d been dressed in his best for this unexpected occasion but he can feel the eyes of the men in the room burning holes into him, yet he remains focused on the most important one.

“You flatter me,” the Dragon Head responds, and though his expression is stone cold, his warm voice is much more forgiving. “But all I ever seem to hear about is you, these days.”

Lu Han is caught off guard yet again by his words, glancing up quickly once more from where he’s been staring respectfully at his hands to gage the other’s expression; there really is only one thing you ever hear about a prostitute, escort or courtesan—Lu Han has even heard poetry dedicated to the way that he moans. The dancing flames from the tall candles resting on the small table between them reflect from the Dragon Head’s eyes and Lu Han catches the mischievous smile playing on his lips, unable to look away from those black eyes, and his body immediately responds by relaxing his shoulders to return the teasing manner. Lu Han would never have suspected the cold-blooded leader of the triad to be the type to play games.

“Would my lord like to find out for himself?” Lu Han pushes coquettishly, looking at Wu Fan from under his dark lashes—he knows how this game works and he refuses to be bested so soon into it just because he’s afraid.

But the Dragon Head continues to turn all the tables on him, smirk widening like he’d just claimed Lu Han’s queen in a game of chess. “Oh, I have no interest in that kind of service,” he turns down casually, pressing the cigar between his lips for a few beats and allowing Lu Han to simmer in embarrassment for a bit before using his head to signal to his right. “But I _do_ have a request for my bad-tempered friend.”

A loud scoff breaks Lu Han from his focus on the _Duizhang_ and he finally shifts his gaze to properly get a look at the only other gang member sitting in the room. A strange feeling jolts in Lu Han’s chest, a flutter or a burn, he can’t really say, mouth drying up as he takes in the familiar face. Lu Han remembers that fiery expression shadowing the Dragon Head, shoulders and dark hair wet from rain, brows furrowed and thin lips pulled almost into a snarl; seven years later and he hasn’t changed either.

He’s the only one of the Talons that Lu Han has seen in passing, just a handful of times from whenever he came to pick up the dues owed to the Wu Fong by the El Dorado. Lu Han actively keeps out of the way of the triad circle but you can’t forget a face like that, not one with such a prominent scar down the right side of his face and a glare so piercing even with one blinded eye; he has the presence of someone that can kill you mid-breath and though he is scary in every sense of the word, he is just as intriguing. Lu Han has been caught staring at him from a distance on several occasions, but the Talon never said a word to him. Sometimes, even after the courtesan had long since looked away, he could feel that one eye boring into the back of his head.

After all the curiosity he’d had for this man, Lu Han can’t believe that he didn’t take notice of him earlier, but considering that he’d been more worried about infuriating the most important man in the room, he’s not very surprised either. In fact, Lu Han is more shocked by what is being asked of him right now, heart rate picking up yet again. “I’m sorry?” he questions, eyes widening as he turns back to the Dragon Head. “I’m not sure I heard right.”

“Xiumin needs to loosen up,” Wu Fan explains.

“I don’t need to loosen up anything,” the scarred man spits back, sitting straight. “ _Duizang_ , if _this_ is why we’re here—”

“Like I was saying, he needs loosening,” the Dragon Head insists with a wave of his hand, and he gives Xiumin this patronizing look that only makes Lu Han wonder if he’s seeing things. It hardly seems like a conversation the Dragon Head should be having with an underling, sounding more like brothers or friends quarreling, and it’s honestly too much to handle all at once. He thinks he even saw one of the other Talons chuckling into his fist a second ago. Lu Han’s head is still reeling from the sudden change of atmosphere, but the taut tightrope of tension from before seems to only pull harder. He can’t keep up with the pace, continuing a balancing act that he isn’t certain is even going on anymore.

“What would my lord have me do, then?” Lu Han decides to ask properly when the silence stretches on too long, fidgeting uncomfortably under Xiumin’s seething glare and the eyes of everyone else watching him so carefully.

“You’re the snake charmer, are you not?” the _Duizhang_ reminds point blank, smirking as he blows out another cloud of smoke. “So charm him.”

His words have Lu Han’s ears reddening, and the courtesan swallows thickly. He feels like he’s being made fun of even though the joke is obviously directed at Xiumin and not himself. Either way he does as he is instructed, turning carefully towards Xiumin who looks angry but resigned. The gangster says nothing as Lu Han approaches him, glaring back at Lu Han even as the other offers a hesitant smile. He hopes that Xiumin will take pity on him and make this easier for them both, but his expression remains unchanged and it makes Lu Han waver for a brief second under the heat of it.

It’s in that moment Lu Han realizes that he needs to step up his game if he wants to get anywhere, even if Xiumin looks unimpressed. After all, Lu Han is considered one of the finest courtesans in the country for a reason—his beauty and performance has charmed his way into the hearts of many different kinds of people, so who is to say that he can’t do the same now? With a burst of determination and certainty, Lu Han schools his expression into one of practiced coyness, a perfect show of temptation that never fails to reel in even the most stubborn of people. He makes to get onto his knees and kneel before the other man, eyes hooded and biting into his lower lip, but almost immediately after Lu Han’s entire body language transforms Xiumin’s face scrunches up with a repulsed expression instead, his lip curling as daggers practically shoot out of his eyes and sink deep into the most vulnerable parts of Lu Han’s flesh.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he growls out, hostile in such an unruffled way that he shatters Lu Han’s confidence without even a second of hesitation. He has the courtesan recoiling immediately like he’d been slapped across the face. _I don’t want someone like you anywhere near me_ , Xiumin doesn’t say, but his eyes speak much louder than any words could ever have, and that burns more than Lu Han expected. His composure melts like ice on the hottest day of the summer, mouth drying up again but for a different reason entirely this time. He’s been insulted to his face before, and in much worse fashions than this, but something about the way Xiumin truly seems to detest Lu Han with every part of his being, glowering like he feels nauseated just by looking at the prostitute, really makes Lu Han feel small and pathetic and ashamed, like how he used to feel before his mother died. All he can think of now is the peeling paint of the wardrobe, close to hyperventilating after being startled by such a hostile reaction.

Lu Han doesn’t understand why he was rejected with so much hatred when they’ve never even spoken before; at most he might have even believed that Xiumin was just as curious about Lu Han as he’d been of him. Now it just feels like the world has been turned upside down; his beauty has never failed him so horribly before and it leaves a panicked feeling burrowed inside Lu Han’s lungs. “Yes, my lord,” he responds automatically as he straightens, cheeks burning and gaze fixated on the floor in front of his feet. “I apologize for displeasing you.” He’d been properly made a fool of and now he’s having difficulty breathing with all the eyes on him, watching him be humiliated like this. Eight men feel like a million, but Lu Han remains strangely calm anyway despite being so out of his element. He’s never been scorned like this before and now he has no idea what to do. Feeling this out of control is so utterly terrifying that Lu Han chooses simply not to think about it anymore, in denial of what just occurred by smiling kindly and believing that it never even happened.

After another stretch of silence, Wu Fan sighs. “He’s just a whore Xiumin, not an enemy,” he chides with a shake of his head, placing his cigar on the ashtray. He still looks amused but his eyes are so, so sharp as they study Lu Han carefully. The courtesan refuses to look up from the floor to avoid accidentally catching Xiumin’s hateful glare and reliving the last few minutes, but he does glance up to exchange eye contact with the Dragon Head. “Perhaps next time, Lu Han,” he finally tells him dismissively, sitting back comfortably in his seat, and it’s such an obvious display of pity but Lu Han accepts it like a dying man.

To keep up the show of respect, Lu Han offers a deep bow to the _Duizhang_ as well as Xiumin, still avoiding eye contact with him or any of the other Talons before calmly making his way to the exit. As he opens one of the large double doors he thinks he can feel Xiumin’s heavy gaze boring into the back of his head, but Lu Han knows better now, sure that the interest he’d supposed the Talon had had for him was all just an illusion. Could it be that Lu Han really wasn’t as beautiful as he thought if Xiumin could look at him like he was the most repulsive thing he’d ever set his eyes on?

The idea alone makes Lu Han feel sick, as his beauty is the only thing he’s ever believed in about himself; there isn’t much else to him apart from that. But he refuses to think about it anymore, adamant on forgetting the exchange has even happened. The less he thinks about it the better off he’ll be. He remains lost in his thoughts even when the two servant women are shocked to see him come out of the entertainment room fully clothed, or even come out at all. They question why he took so little time and about what happened, but he doesn’t answer them, responding instead with a shake of his head and asking to be taken back to his room.

But of course, nothing is quite that simple in the El Dorado because if a few people had seen Lu Han being escorted into the entertainment room where the Dragon Head and the Talons are seated, then by now everyone knows and has been carefully watching and waiting for him to come back out. It is unfortunate that the only stairs to the upper floors are behind the front desk, meaning that he doesn’t really have any other choice but to walk through the casino area and down the center walkway where everyone will watch them.

Used to this sort of attention, Lu Han ignores the loud gossip and the catcalls of the lower level members of the Wu Fong who don’t appear to sense something wrong about Lu Han coming out untouched, the courtesan’s face frozen in his signature indifferent expression as he makes his way down the main walkway. They are so far down the chain that they could never even dream of exchanging words with someone like Lu Han, although it doesn’t mean Lu Han isn’t anxious. Gangs aren’t known for following the basic etiquette after all, and true enough, one cocky member stops them by blocking the way when they nearly reach the front, flanked by a few others.

“The _Duizhang_ had you all to himself, didn’t he?” the man asks, expression impish. “I bet you put on a nice show for the rest of ‘em too, yeah? How about you show us what you did in there, too.” He doesn’t state the last one as a question, sounding forceful. He has his gun out even though weapons are not allowed in the brothel and he holds it like he’s trying to show off, as if his blatant disrespect is going to make Lu Han want to fuck him. He reaches out to touch Lu Han’s hair but the courtesan adamantly ignores every word and avoids him instead, walking around the small group of men with the two servants trailing after them. His heart is racing a mile a minute, afraid but knowing that the best way to deal with people like them is by acting like you don’t care or just ignoring them. If you provoke them by responding, who knows what they’ll do, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when all they do is complain and call after him some more, but don’t follow.

“Who the hell did that mongrel think he was anyway? As if he _actually_ had a chance with our Lu Han who was handpicked by the Madame,” one of the servants suddenly says arrogantly, and entirely too loud. She makes a face as she looks back over her shoulder at them and Lu Han’s blood turns to ice when he realizes what she’s just said. He hopes the men didn’t hear her sudden outburst, opening his mouth to reprimand her, when not even a beat later a loud bang echoes through the brothel. Immediately silence falls over the entire lobby, sounds of panic rumbling as people looked around with alarm to figure out what was happening.

The surprise makes Lu Han freeze in place, heart pounding so hard against his ribcage that it’s painful. But with every second that passes Lu Han realizes that the pain he feels isn’t coming from his chest, but from his side, the throbbing growing so rapidly that he can barely breathe. He looks down to see a deep patch of scarlet growing from his side, wet and dark as the area continues to spread on his blue silk robes, bigger and bigger and never ending. He thinks of his mother, how she used to cough up blood in the weeks preceding her death and how Lu Han couldn’t remember how to breathe at the sight of those crimson splatters.

It’s only as he falls to his knees, consciousness escaping his grasp and the sounds of panicked servants calling his name, he realizes that he’d been shot.


	4. Part Three: Lion's Den.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 5,665

Yixing can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything; Lu Han is lying on the lobby floor, body curled up on itself. His long, dark strands flare around his head like a halo, thick lashes fanning out over his cheeks. He looks like he’s asleep, clad in his favorite deep blue robes, a special gift from the Madame, but there is a growing wet patch of blood staining his side.

He is dead.

Or at least, he seems to be. Everyone is walking around him like he isn’t even there, keeping their distance and pretending that this is like any other normal day, trying not to show the fear that is so obviously clogging up the atmosphere. Yixing blindly makes to kneel by his dear friend’s prone body, wanting to check for evidence of life, but a firm hand stops him. He looks over his shoulder to see Qian biting her lip, shaking her head softly. She is one of few people who have always been nice to him, someone Yixing has come to consider an ally; she doesn’t make a sound now, simply mouthing two easily recognizable words: _Wu Fong_.

Fear burns like dry ice through Yixing’s veins, freezing him momentarily in place. He can’t stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks as he retracts his hand and presses it hard against his chest; Lu Han was the only ray of sunshine he had in this godforsaken place, the last one in this world who truly loved him when he can’t even love himself. How easily a bright ray of sunshine like Lu Han can be snuffed out in the face of the most feared gang in the country. How easily Yixing can turn his back on his friend in fear for his own pathetic life.

The shock of the situation keeps everything from properly sinking in, makes him glance over at Lu Han again and again and again, looking for signs of life he can’t find from where he’s standing among the small crowd gathered nearby. Hushed whispers begin to take over as many customers begin to leave, the obnoxious voices of the gangbangers rising in volume. That’s when the hysteria in Yixing begins to kick in, thoughts drunk on terror spoiling his mind. They were supposed to leave _together_ , Lu Han had promised him at least this, even if Yixing never really believed him. He wonders what the Wu Fong would gain from the murder of a courtesan, why they had taken away the only person that cared enough to remind Yixing that he was alive for a reason.

He swallows hard, halting his shaking hands by curling them into the sleeves of his wrinkled red robe. When he looks up, he sees a group of men in more Western suits sitting around near the front of the lobby, not too far away. They’re all seated in and around one of the larger booths, frightened women bringing them alcohol and pasting on fake smiles as they are manhandled onto laps, groped, or forced to dance. He can tell what gang they are from by their tattoo covered skin, the deep blue triangle on the side of their necks showcasing their association to the Wu Fong and the triad.

From experience and self-learned preservation skills, Yixing knows that his gaze shouldn’t linger on gang members too long, especially after what just happened to Lu Han, but he can’t help himself. He wonders which of the men hurt Lu Han, and then wonders if they had done it for fun, if Lu Han had graced the undeserving piece of shit with one of his kind smiles before he was shot. Yixing’s heavy cloud of grief rapidly develops into a thundering storm inside of himself; Qian, who is still standing near, must notice this sudden change in mood because she grips his shoulder even tighter in warning, the fear obvious in her expression.

She looks like she wants to tell him something, but not a word escapes her lips and Yixing can’t wait any longer. He knows the dangers of confrontation but nothing seems to matter anymore, not even common sense, not when he doesn’t even know how long Lu Han’s body had been lying there on the white marble tiles before he’d come down from seeing a customer. It makes Yixing sick to his stomach to know that he’d been pleasuring some disgusting filth of a human being while his only true friend lay dying on the floor, cold and alone. More tears spill down his cheeks at the thought, stomach churning and knuckles going white.

“W-Who did it?” he murmurs, voice shaking before he raises it enough to grab the attention of a few people around them. “Which of you h-hurt him?”

Qian gives him one last pleading look before dropping her hand from his shoulder, her shoes clicking quickly over the floor as she heads towards the front desk, likely to send someone to alert the Madame who is currently out at the marketplace, even though a servant is probably already notified anyway. Yixing knows that Qian is looking out for him but he doesn’t care anymore, instead making his way to the gang members who are now beginning to take notice of his approach.

What a pathetic mess he must look like, curly hair in disarray and robes sloppily drawn together from rushing to put them back on. They would never take a prostitute like him seriously, especially not when he can’t even speak properly; they’ll probably just kill him. _Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, either_ , he can’t help but think. Still, he presses on, anger building up. “What did he ever do to you?!” he shouts this time in Mandarin, voice furious and accusing as he steps next to Lu Han. He doesn’t know where this confidence comes from; it’s the most he’s ever said aloud to anyone other than Lu Han, let alone anything remotely confrontational.

Yixing can’t bring himself to look down at the body as he nears where Lu Han is, afraid of what he might see from this up close. He refuses to allow the last few memories of his friend to turn into the moment of his murder. Yixing continues to glare in the direction of the gang members who are now turning around to look at him, blood roaring in his ears and making it hard to think about anything else. He’s so afraid, but he’s just as angry, and that alone keeps him from backing away like he knows he probably should.

“What’s that whore going on about?” questions one of them in Korean, laughing in astonishment. He’s got a gun in his hand, twirling it around on one finger with the trigger precariously grazing against it every now and then, even though weapons were supposed to remain concealed in the brothel as directed by the rules. He’s just cocky enough that Yixing knows right then that that is the gun that left Lu Han lying prone on the ground. Another jolt of fear spikes his heart rate, and yet Yixing continues to struggle against his own instincts to run when a few of the gang members begins approaching him.

“You k-killed him!” Yixing calls him out, switching to broken Korean; his heart is pounding so hard it feels just about ready to rip out of his rib cage. Right then cold, weak fingers wrap around Yixing’s ankle, and slowly when he glances down he sees Lu Han looking right up at him from the corner of his eye. There is a trickle of blood running out of his mouth, leaving a streak down his cheek, the courtesan himself appearing frail and barely awake, but he is most definitely _alive_. Everything stops for Yixing right then; he realizes in that very moment that despite being in so much pain, Lu Han had been lying there playing dead to keep the gangsters at bay until help arrived. That must have been what Qian was trying to tell him earlier, and the shock of it has his breath catching. Within a matter of seconds, all of that bravery that had been burning inside of him is doused by a heavy load of horror, afraid that he’s ruined everything.

“Mind saying that again?” another gangster growls from Yixing’s right, making the prostitute jolt back to reality, finally comprehending the grave he’s dug for himself. He cries out when someone shoves him from the side, making him trip over Lu Han who smartly doesn’t make a sound even as he is jostled onto his other side where he is wounded. Yixing lands face-first on the ground, biting painfully into his cheek. “I don’t think we heard you the first time.”

Struggling to stand on shaky legs, Yixing tastes blood on his tongue as he glances back to check on Lu Han. The courtesan’s skin is ghastly pale and this time his eyes are closed, the veins of his neck a prominent deep blue, looking truly unconscious now. Yixing’s skin prickles at the sight, fearing for his friend’s life but turning to face his attacker in case he does something again. Turning ends up being a huge mistake because there are more gang members on his other side and one easily grabs Yixing’s arm, twisting it behind his back and making him shriek in pain. “I think he was _actually_ trying to accuse one of _us_ of _murder_ ,” cackles the man gripping Yixing’s arm, twisting it harder and making Yixing cry out again, the pain causing tears to prick his eyes.

One of the men steps over Lu Han to stand in front of Yixing; he cracks his knuckles, grinning with a mouth that is missing a few teeth, before adding, “You know what? I don’t think I heard him the first time. I’d like to hear him try saying it again.”

“Make him scream it, yeah?” another one growls, and Yixing whimpers, struggling futilely against the tight grip. He hasn’t left the brothel once since being purchased; he wouldn’t make it one second through a beating, especially by the Wu Fong who are apparently unafraid to shoot up prostitutes under their own jurisdiction, and especially not with how thin and scrawny Yixing is from never eating regularly. He wonders briefly if his pathetic life is finally going to come to an end like this, in the hands of the Wu Fong.

It’s at this low point that he finds himself resigning to his fate, just like every other terrible situation in life that has happened to him, eyes locked on the clenched fists of the men surrounding him. He’s not going to survive in time for help to arrive, and honestly Yixing has been waiting for a chance to off himself for a long time now. This is not the ideal way to go, but he’d like to delude himself into thinking it will be over fast. He just almost allows his eyes to flutter shut, just almost holds his breath for the first swing, just almost allows his body to go limp and accept what is coming for him, when the sound of a gunshot shatters the intense atmosphere. Yixing watches with horror as the man to his right, the one he’d suspected of shooting Lu Han, falls to the floor, a bullet hole in the side of his head.

“Release him,” rumbles a voice from somewhere behind them, deep and commanding. Immediately Yixing is dropped without question, falling to his hands and knees, sore arm smarting. There is a hideous bruise forming on his wrist, partially hidden by his long sleeves, but he can see the discoloration starting to form. He feels sick now, lightheaded and trembling. He honestly can’t believe that he’s still alive, much less fully intact. The same voice clicks his tongue distastefully, chiding as he adds, “All this chaos for nothing. You clowns have caused such a mess.”

Yixing hears the sound of expensive shoes stepping on the tiled floor just before he sees them in his line of sight. They’re designer; Yixing can tell even though it’s the first time he’s ever seen a pair, but he’s just trash enough to not be able to identify what brand. It’s not like he knows how to read anyway, in either Mandarin or Korean, and he doesn’t have any earnings to save up in hopes of ever owning a pair. Either way, he can’t stop staring at them, at his wide eyes that are reflected back at him in the polished black leather.

“ _Look at me_ ,” demands the owner of the shoes. He is the one who'd spoken earlier, but this time he speaks in Mandarin and it sends a jolt down the prostitute’s spine. His voice is calm and even, no different from before, but the sheer amount of presence makes Yixing want to jump out of his skin to obey. There aren’t many Chinese folk residing in Korea, definitely more than there used to be before the British occupation turned nearly all the affected Asian countries into a living hell, but Yixing has only crossed paths with a handful after his parents sold him ten years ago.

When he looks up, he doesn’t even know where to begin, gaze carefully climbing up a pair of legs that go on forever, to slim hips and a body that goes out towards broad shoulders, ebony suit pulling taut and accentuating the muscles in his chest and arms. The dragon tattoo on his neck is menacing as it protects an iron triangle with a column of fire erupting from its mouth, glaring back at Yixing as if it were daring him to blink. On his face is a pair of pink lips, perfectly straight nose, and dark eyes so frightening and piercing beneath heavy eyebrows that Yixing nearly wets himself when he realizes that they’re trained on him; if there was any question as to who this man is, it is now answered.

_They say you only need to see him once to know exactly who he is._

He has a colossal presence about him that knocks the very breath right out of Yixing’s lungs, his throat tightening painfully like someone is wrenching it like a wet rag. Something white-hot crackles in the air between them, setting everything ablaze; Yixing has never felt something so immediate, so _potent_ , for anyone in his life. Here is a man with a voice as rough as it is powerful, and a face far too beautiful for this world; his entire being demands attention, the highest sort of alpha male you can only conjure once in a millennia, the kind Yixing shouldn’t even be allowed to be in the same room with, let alone look at, and good lord is Yixing utterly _terrified_.

Yixing’s face must say it all; the Dragon Head smirks a little then, sharp eyes glinting in the dim lighting. These are only minute changes in his expression but from years of practice Yixing has learned to tell what they mean, can tell by the curve of his thick brows that he is considering him, intrigued and curious as his eyes take in Yixing’s sallow form. People like Yixing don’t last very long gaping at others in a class higher than his own, he knows this all too well, but still the escort can’t look away to save his life. He is completely entranced, and the fear and attraction are so deeply intertwined inside of his gut at this point that each spike of his heartbeat makes him burn hot and cold at the same time, like a fever that refuses to break.

Yixing has heard of how people who survived a one on one meeting with the Dragon Head claimed to have been hypnotized by the devil himself, and others have even claimed to have seen god hovering behind him. Looking at him now, it all somehow makes perfect sense, Yixing so utterly and completely enraptured by someone who looks as if they’ve stepped straight out of an urban legend. And isn’t that what the Dragon Head is—an urban legend? Despite many things, Yixing has had his doubts over the existence of such an individual. And yet here he is, very real, and very much alive.

Everything moves in slow motion when the Dragon Head leans forward to get closer; he bends only slightly at the knees before grasping Yixing’s chin firmly with his large, rough hand, and the touch feels like it’s burning right through the escort’s skin. Wu Fan lifts Yixing’s face, surprisingly careful as he turns the escort’s head to examine him from every angle. “When was the last time you ate?” he questions, still in Mandarin, and Yixing could cry from the relief of not having to use his fragmented Korean, although his Mandarin isn’t much better. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, to go back to what he’s done since the morning, and he’s actually surprised when he realizes that he hasn’t eaten all day, that he hasn’t felt hungry once. He opens his mouth to respond but nothing comes out—he doesn’t know what to say. The man’s grip tightens, not painfully so, but it does make Yixing whimper. “ _Answer me_ ,” he orders, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t—” Yixing gurgles, ungluing his tongue from the roof of his mouth and fumbling for words that stutter past his lips. “I h-haven’t, not since yesterday. I wasn’t hungry.” Yixing still can’t look away from the Dragon Head’s dark orbs, unable to tell what a man as powerful as him is thinking in the split second that his eyes flash with surprise.

Wu Fan releases Yixing’s face in favor of taking hold of his wrist instead, turning it over and now examining the prostitute’s dirty palm. It is bleeding just a little at the base where he attempted to break his fall earlier. “You’re a mess,” is all he says, quiet and calm. The Dragon Head’s large hand slides further up Yixing’s forearm and another fire blazes just under his skin, making Yixing shiver as it leaves a trail goosebumps in its wake. Their eyes connect again for a moment and Yixing gets chills at the solidity he finds there, especially up this close. He can tell his mouth is open from gaping but Yixing can’t think straight enough to close it. After another few beats Wu Fan stands sharply, bringing Yixing right up with him, the smaller man stumbling to his feet as he is lifted unceremoniously.

Wu Fan is no longer looking at Yixing but he doesn’t let go of the prostitute’s arm, grip remaining firm. He’s looking at Lu Han now, who continues to lie motionless on the ground, as if considering him. Yixing had almost forgotten he was even there. He looks much worse than he did about fifteen minutes ago when Yixing first spotted him; his skin is a chalky pale now, blood dripping down the side of his mouth as his chest heaves with every breath he takes. He looks barely conscious and Yixing feels sick looking at him, wanting to run to his side but jerking back to his senses when he remembers that the Dragon Head hasn’t let go of him yet.

“Xiumin,” the Dragon Head starts, addressing the gangster flanking his right side, easily recognizable as a Talon member. The aforementioned had been glowering daggers into Yixing’s skin earlier, as if threatening him to try anything that is out of line, not that Yixing could do anything of any harm; Wu Fan could probably snap him in half without even breaking a sweat, Yixing is so weak.

Xiumin is a man that is short in stature, with almond eyes and a round face. He is more than beautiful enough to work at a brothel such as this one, but he has a vertical scar that mars the right side of his round face, blinding his right eye and traveling down his small chin to the base of his throat, where it disappears underneath his perfectly pressed white collar. He looks familiar, enough to a point that Yixing is sure he’s seen him before, but Yixing doesn’t dare stare at him for too long because he is still glaring right back at him. He makes Yixing the most uncomfortable out of anyone else he’s ever met, even the Dragon Head, who still has him by the arm.

“Take Lu Han to the doctor and make sure he’s okay,” Wu Fan continues in Korean, indicating the suffering man on the floor. “It wouldn’t do if one of our own idiots managed to kill Madame Boa’s most expensive commodity on my first visit in years.”

Xiumin gives a deep bow in acknowledgement before gathering Lu Han effortlessly in his arms, not that the other weighs that much either, but still Yixing is startled by the strength he displays despite his lean body. Even more surprising than that is the gentleness that he carries the courtesan with, careful not to jostle him, almost as if they knew each other. Yixing can only look on as the gangster asks one of the hostesses where he should go. The escort wants to go after them and stay by Lu Han’s side, worried about his friend being taken care of by someone who looks so scary, but instead he watches after them as they disappear into the hall left of the front desk.

“He’ll be fine,” the Dragon Head reassures, easily switching between languages, fixing his gaze back on Yixing. “Xiumin is all bark and no bite… most of the time.” He smiles a little more, like he expects Yixing to laugh at what he’s said, but the knot in Yixing’s stomach only tightens. Wu Fan continues on regardless as if he is used to not really getting a reaction anyway. “One of my men became a little trigger happy. I’m sorry you had to go through this.” The way the Dragon Head looks down at Yixing as he speaks starts a slow tingle from where Wu Fan’s holds tightly onto his arm, traveling all the way down his spine to the tips of toes and making Yixing lick his dry lips. He nods, unable to speak with his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth again. The man’s eyes are still studying him closely, this time more amused than anything. “You don’t speak much, do you?”

“That’s because he’s slow,” a sharp, familiar voice cuts in; without even looking Yixing can immediately tell that it’s Nuying, one of the only other Chinese prostitutes that work at El Dorado. She’s thin and beautiful, tall where she lacks curves, with dark black hair that hangs pin-straight down her back. She also has despised Yixing to her very core ever since Lu Han reprimanded her for making fun of the way Yixing speaks. Nuying has always given Yixing a hard time since the first time they met, using difficult Korean or Mandarin when belittling him, blaming him for things he didn’t do and couldn’t get out of without being punished.

It only got worse as the time passed and she grew more jealous of his friendship with Lu Han, to the point where it grew past envy and had went straight to pure hatred. Worst of all, she always makes sure that everyone knows just how dim-witted he actually is. She’s always been loud and outspoken, more obnoxious than anything, and even at this very moment she’s glaring at Yixing despite the fact that one of the most powerful men in Asia has him by the arm. Her blatant disregard for formalities has always made her stand out, and it really shows now as she speaks directly to the Dragon Head as if they were equals. “He can barely speak Mandarin, let alone Korean. Can’t read or write, either. Hasn’t got a thing in his stupid little head.”

“Oh?” Wu Fan questions, turning his head to observe Yixing again, but the prostitute has already glued his gaze to his feet, face burning hot with shame and unable to even look up anywhere else. It’s embarrassing, how he can’t even defend himself, and how pathetic he feels in that moment, unable to say or do anything because everything she just said about him is pitifully true. His skin continues to prickle under the Dragon Head’s heavy eyes. He truly feels like the invalid that he is in that moment, flesh crawling with discomfort.

Suddenly Yixing hears Nuying cry out before he actually sees her choking, and his head shoots up to see another one of the nicer dressed gangsters who had been hovering around the Dragon Head gripping her tightly by the neck; the thick silver rings on his fingers dig deep into her skin from how hard he’s squeezing—Yixing can see that even from the good amount of distance between them and it makes his insides drop. “Speaking directly to the _Duizhang_ without being acknowledged first is an offense penalized immediately by the severing of ones’ tongue,” he states, as if speaking by script, expression bored as he watches her dangle and choke. “Fortunately for you, I do not have my blade upon me. Filth such as yourself would do well to remain silent. For good.”

Nuying desperately pulls at his hand, thrashing her legs with panic set in her eyes, before they roll back and her entire body goes limp within a minute. He still doesn’t let go for a few more beats, as if debating on killing her or not right then and there, the entire lobby waiting with bated breath as they look on in horror, before he finally allows her motionless body to crumple to the floor. He doesn’t even give her a passing glance before his eyes meet directly with Yixing’s, who in turn jolts in shock. The man’s eyes are deadly despite his casual stance, dark eye bags making him seem more menacing than he already looks.

Horrified by what he just witnessed, Yixing’s stomach begins to churn, body trembling once again. He is suddenly all too aware that he is in the presence of the fearsome leader of the Wu Fong himself, and he practically burns holes into his feet, determined to never look away as tears sting his eyes and the nausea returns ten fold. He’s not sure what he’s gotten himself into but it can’t be good, and he allows his gaze to forlornly flit up for just a second towards the archway that Lu Han disappeared into, carried in the arms of another dangerous stranger. Yixing didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye; he’ll die with the final memory of Lu Han’s frightened, unfocused eyes burned into the back of his skull.

“Look at me,” the Dragon Head suddenly commands again and Yixing snaps his head up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. The man’s eyes have not left Yixing’s face once during the entire exchange, watching him carefully. Yixing feels almost like a trapped animal, as if he were being stared at through the metal bars of his cage. “What is your name?”

“Y—,” he tries to respond immediately, cold sweat collecting on his forehead and back. His voice catches and he has to repeat himself, but he only stutters. Tears spill down his cheeks with frustration and he’s shaking so bad now it is becoming difficult to stand. The Dragon Head, however, does not do anything. There is patience in his dark eyes that wade into Yixing’s, stealing the breath from his lungs. He doesn’t speak for what seems like an eternity, waiting for Yixing to calm down and try again.

“Breathe,” Wu Fan murmurs after a few beats, voice rumbling so low that Yixing is sure only he can actually hear him. “I have no desire to harm you.” The Dragon Head’s expression hasn’t shifted once from it’s seemingly default irritated one, but Yixing can read his eyes so clearly that it’s startling to find the sheer amount of sincerity swimming there.

Carefully, Yixing nods in acknowledgement, sniffing softly as he tries to wipe away the tears with the sleeve of his unoccupied arm. “Yixing,” he finally gets out, clearer this time but still hesitant. “I’m—”

“He is not somebody of your status should be concerning themselves with, _Duizhang_ ,” a new voice interrupts, and everyone turns to look at the front entrance where the sound has come from. The room erupts into gasps at the sight of Kwon Boa making her arrival into El Dorado, flanked on either side by several servant women. She bows her head slightly before she approaches, liberating everyone from their own bowing positions. If she notices the dead gangster’s body or the passed out prostitute on the floor, she doesn’t comment on it. “I can’t say I’m not surprised that you’ve actually set foot in the lobby, especially after so long, but I know that we have a fine selection of remarkable courtesans more suited to your tastes. It’s shamefully unfortunate that the gem of our establishment is currently incapacitated, otherwise he would surely have been yours for as long as you wished.”

With those words she immediately reaches for Yixing’s free hand, tugging him away from Wu Fan towards herself, and the prostitute can’t help but feel a slow burn of disappointment curling in the pit of his stomach along with a tinge of relief. He hasn’t even thought about why the mafia boss was at the brothel to begin with; of course he must have come by for Lu Han, as everyone always does. Yixing is no one, his name not even among the listed escorts with a photograph, one of too many others to even count; he is just wasting the man’s time. He makes to fall into the Madame’s familiar embrace, ready to leave this emotional whirlwind behind, only—

The Dragon Head does not let go of Yixing’s arm.

He dangles between the two of them awkwardly, expression unsure and skin prickling yet again. Boa looks vaguely startled at Wu Fan’s behavior, the man himself keeping his face very carefully blank. “I don’t understand?” she questions, regaining her composure within seconds. “You do not wish to view our courtesans? Seeing as you are the rightful owner of the land, there will be no charge, of course.”

Wu Fan simply shakes his head, and Yixing nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels the Dragon Head’s grip tighten, almost painfully so. “I’m afraid that only this one will do,” he responds. “I’ve taken a liking to him, you see.”

“But he is nothing,” the Madame argues, brows furrowing. “He’s not even trained to entertain the working class, let alone aristocracy.”

Wu Fan chuckles, but his eyes remain dark; the result is a chilling image to behold. “I’m hardly an aristocrat.”

“You certainly are not among the commoners.”

They continue to assess each other, the entire hall dead silent. Everyone is watching every little move of the scene unfolding before them carefully, all eyes boring into Yixing who feels like he’s going to melt from the heat of them. He can’t really understand everything that they’re saying since the conversation is in Korean, but he’s figured out the brunt of it. He’d much rather be dead than have this kind of attention focused on him; regardless of what occurs now, everyone will look at him different after this. Rumors will spread and who knows what they’ll say, how they’ll treat him. He was never cut out for a situation like this, and even now he cannot find his voice, instead continuing to look at the floor with the intent to be absorbed into it.

“If you want someone who speaks your mother tongue, we have other escorts who are even more fine-looking and skilled,” Boa pushes, breaking the silence first. “Ones who can _actually_ speak, might I add,” she continues, adamant, and she has every right to be. Yixing’s stuttering words can’t beguile a customer, he doesn’t know how to seduce in a flirtatious manner, and he has never learned the proper way of entertaining someone through all stages of courtship and pleasure—all of which courtesans must master before serving anyone of status. It would be an embarrassment to have him pleasure someone of the Dragon Head’s rank, the equivalent of serving an emperor food that looks as rotten as it is. “Believe me when I say he is not worth your time.”

“I want Yixing,” Wu Fan responds without hesitation, the prostitute’s name rolling easily off his tongue, like liquid fire. If Yixing felt like he was burning before, he’s ablaze now, cheeks flushed pink and ears tinged red. The Madame stills for a few beats, as if deliberating her next move, eyeing Wu Fan critically. Finally, after what feels like forever, she gives in, releasing Yixing’s hand with a respectful dip of her head.

“As you wish,” she concedes, eyes glinting as she straightens up. “You are charmed by him, I can see. I suppose it is best to disenchant yourself on your own. Know that the others will always be available at your leisure.” Her words are sharp, but acknowledging. The Dragon Head simply nods, expression remaining unchanged. Boa looks at Yixing now, gripping his chin with her hand much the same way as Wu Fan had earlier. Where his hands had been large and calloused, Boa’s are thin and elegant, but they still wield the same amount of power, her hold much harsher. “You would do well to try not to embarrass this establishment. Nod if you understand.” She knows he has trouble speaking, hence the carefully worded question, and when Yixing nods he sees that there is compassion in her eyes, as well a dash of pity.

If Yixing disappoints, she needn’t punish him. Wu Fan would do away with him himself.


	5. Part Four: Playing With Fire.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 7,965

Lu Han comes to as he’s being carried to the hospital wing, eyes blinking open sluggishly as he takes in his rapidly moving surroundings. His vision is blurry, unable to focus on any one thing without feeling dizzy. When he shifts his body, the pain in his waist throbs mutely, but it is nowhere near as terrible as it had been when he’d been lying on the ground earlier.

“Looks like you’re awake,” a voice above him says, the chest that Lu Han is leaning against vibrating with every word. Lu Han blinks a few times to focus his vision at the silhouetted head, exact features difficult to make out from how the ceiling lights shadow him from above. Even still, it’s hard to miss that sharp eye glancing down at him for a brief second, the familiar curve of his jaw when the man looks away, the very _smell_ of him.

“M-My lord—” Lu Han chokes out, jolting with surprise when he realizes the person carrying him is none other than Xiumin, the same person who’d shunned him not even an hour ago. “But h-how—?”

“Stop calling me lord. I am just a guard,” Xiumin cuts in sharply, nose wrinkling in irritation, before he adds, “and the _Duizhang_ ordered me to take you to the hospital wing.” He’s looking straight ahead, but his grip on Lu Han is firm, arms steady as he walks at a brisk pace. The courtesan can’t stop himself from staring, unable to put together what is even going on, when suddenly he remembers Yixing and the situation the escort had gotten into back at the lobby.

“What of Yixing?” Lu Han urges, dread filling his chest at the thought of the younger getting hurt because of him. He can barely recall anything but Yixing’s petrified expression as he looked back down at him, now the only thing Luhan can think about every time he blinks. “Is he—”

“He’s fine,” Xiumin responds, stopping the courtesan in his tracks again. He glances down briefly at Lu Han’s waist, adding, “And it’d be best not to move so much until your bleeding has properly stopped. I adjusted your belt earlier, but I doubt it’ll last long.”

Almost immediately at the mention of his injury, pure terror spikes in Lu Han’s chest, the memories of what just happened rushing back to him, reminding him exactly why his waist hurts so much. He’s afraid to look at it again, just remembering the sight of blood staining his blue robes making him feel faint again. His right arm, which had been dangling at his side as he was being carried, lifts quickly, his fist clenching into the front of Xiumin’s vest. Lu Han turns his face to bury it into the Talon’s chest in a desperate effort to keep from looking at the blood even if by accident.

If Xiumin was planning on stopping him, he doesn’t act on it. He can probably feel how much Lu Han’s entire body is trembling, and although he has no incentive to indulge Lu Han, he says not a word. Startlingly, his only response is to hold Lu Han closer against him. A peculiarly familiar sensation bubbles up somewhere from the courtesan’s chest, repressed memories pushing against his aching skull as he tries to make the connection. However, the continuous pain in his waist growing with every second douses the impression swiftly.

True to its remarkable reputation, the El Dorado is properly equipped with a hospital on the first floor. It isn’t very big, more of a small wing, but it is in the third building behind the large brothel, located near the gardens as well as the servant housing. It contains a limited number of rooms with sickbeds and an operating room for the one doctor who works there, as well as his living quarters that connect to his office at the end of the hall. The door of the office remains open so that he has full view of the wing’s entry arch from his desk at all times.

Due to the El Dorado’s large size and the number of people who live and work inside, there is always someone or another in need of a doctor attending to them on almost a daily basis. Mostly the hospital is there for health checks, but Dr. Do Kyungsoo is a very overqualified physician who can tackle any given situation presented to him with ease. No one really knows why the attractive young physician chose to work at a brothel, but the Madame pays him handsomely for his dependable work anyway, and she’d even gifted him with one of El Dorado’s best courtesans two years ago as a show of gratitude. As far as anyone really knows, Dr. Do uses him more like an aid, but he’s never asked for an extra hand since, so he must be satisfied with the former courtesan’s assistance.

It would definitely be his first time dealing with a bullet wound since working here, if the shock on his face is anything to go by at the sight of Xiumin entering the hospital wing with a still bleeding Lu Han. They haven’t had a commotion like this in a while, as the weapon ban is normally enforced, but the brothel has been in a state of fiasco ever since the Dragon Head stepped foot into it this evening. “Why wasn’t I alerted of this immediately?” he demands, gesturing at Xiumin to take the courtesan into the operating room next to the entrance. He doesn’t care for the fact that he’s speaking to a member of the Wu Fong, let alone a Talon—he likely doesn’t know whom he is speaking to, not that he would care more either way even if he did, more concerned with Lu Han as he washes his hands in the sink of the room. “Lu Han, what did you get yourself into?”

Lu Han, whose vertigo finally caught up to his tongue, can’t bring himself to respond. He isn’t even sure if he remembers what happened exactly either, but he suspects that the doctor isn’t really waiting for an answer from him. “There was a spectacle in the lobby,” Xiumin supplies instead, placing Lu Han onto the examination cot very carefully. It still hurts anyway, and Lu Han’s eyes clench shut at the fresh wave of pain as his body stretches out instead of being curled up like he had for so long. “No one was allowed to leave, but the _Duizhang_ ended it and asked me to bring him here.”

“ _Duizhang_?” Dr. Do wonders, and he blinks in surprise as he walks over, brows furrowing in confusion for a second before realization hits him. He eyes Xiumin warily, as if he’d just noticed his scar and the obvious aura of a gang member that shrouds him, before he bends over Lu Han to check his wound. He holds his breath as he peels away the bloodied part of the robe sticking to the courtesan’s skin. He takes a closer look at the wound and immediately his shoulders relax when he spots the bullet protruding out of the skin. “Thankfully it’s just a superficial penetration and didn’t go in very deep. He’s lost a lot of blood though, from not being tended to for so long,” he finally explains, giving Lu Han a look. “You’re lucky the sash of your _hanfu_ was so tight, and was an expensive one at that. It slowed the bullet considerably and kept you from dying.”

Throughout the whole process of picking out the bullet, the end of which is sticking slightly out of Lu Han’s side, and sewing the wound closed, Xiumin is a shadow by the bedside. He is quiet and unassuming as he watches the doctor work, gaze observant. He carries Lu Han to a different room with a sickbed after his injury is properly dressed and Dr. Do has given him medication to ease the pain. Xiumin turns away, making to leave, and Lu Han’s stomach lurches at the sight of his back, panicking at the thought of being alone in the hospital room until servants come to return him to his room.

Before Lu Han can even properly consider his decision, he instinctively reaches out and grabs onto the Talon’s vest, knuckles white from how hard he’s holding on. He doesn’t say it as much as his eyes beg, frightened and in pain, still trembling from the shock of it all. Only a soft “ _Please_ ,” escapes past his dry lips, heart pounding hard in his chest. He’s so scared that he’ll be refused again, pushed away like trash as he had been in the entertainment room in front of all the others, and yet something inside of him believes in the Xiumin who’d pulled Lu Han closer as he took him to the hospital. Xiumin turns to look back at him, gaze hard to read. Unsurprisingly, he shows no reaction, but he doesn’t leave either, and that small comfort is more than enough.

As he drifts off again, Lu Han doesn’t experience any of his reoccurring nightmares for the first time in years. Instead, he dreams of his mother, walking along the ocean side; Lu Han watches her from the window of his room, and she stops to smile back at him, calling him over. Her voice fades into a song, Lu Han’s name curling into the words of a lullaby. The sky is so bright that it sparkles, not a cloud in sight—just miles and miles of a brilliant blue that goes on forever.

 

x x x

 

When Lu Han jolts awake, sweating and short of breath, it’s to Baekhyun wiping his forehead with a wet rag. The former courtesan looks surprised for a second before smiling down at him sheepishly. “Oh, sorry hyung,” he says, retracting his hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you… although I was going to in a bit anyway so that you can be taken to your room. The doc wanted me to tell you that you should be a lot better in about two weeks, so long as you drink lots of water and take care of yourself.”

Lu Han stares up at the ceiling, still reeling from his dream; there is a hollowness in his chest that comes from missing his mother and the lullabies she sang to help him sleep. It doesn’t help the disappointment in noticing that Xiumin is no longer there either, but the Talon never owed Lu Han any favors to begin with. “How long…?” he asks instead as he turns a little, taking note that he could barely even feel the pain in his waist, likely because of the medication.

“You were asleep for about three hours. Yixing hyung came by to see you not too long after you passed out though,” the younger answers, eyes wide with enthusiasm, “and you won’t _believe_ who he had with him—”

“You hush,” Dr. Do’s familiar voice cuts in, exasperated, and Lu Han looks over at the entrance to see him enter, wiping his hands on his coat. He grabs the former courtesan by the back of the neck like a small animal, easily pulling him out of his seat next to the bed and away from Lu Han. It’s a shame because Lu Han is curious of what the other had to say, but he doesn’t protest. He can always ask Yixing himself later. “Let’s not stress him out anymore than he already is.”

The other man squawks indignantly as he’s hauled away, stumbling to his feet and readjusting his robes. “But _doc_ , you have to admit, all of those dragons—”

“ _Enough_ , Baekhyun,” the doctor stresses, shooting him a look that shuts the former courtesan up immediately. It doesn’t stop Baekhyun from making a face and looking put out even as Dr. Do completely ignores him in favor of speaking to Lu Han, who is staring curiously at Baekhyun until he catches the doctor’s attention on him. “Are you feeling okay enough to return to your room?”

Reminded of his injury, Lu Han is unsure of his answer. He bites his lip, inhaling a deep breath before pushing himself to a sitting position with his arms. His wound gives a painful twinge, but it’s nothing he can’t handle, especially with the help of the pain medication. “Yeah,” he finally replies, although his voice is parched from dehydration and catches when he tries to speak. Baekhyun immediately scuffles over to the pitcher and cup on the table next to the bed, filling it quickly and giving it to Lu Han to drink. Lu Han is shocked by how thirsty his is, and he downs another two glasses before he can bring himself to speak again. “Yes,” he repeats, clearer this time. “I can go back.”

“Perfect,” Dr. Do says, lips pulling into a small smile. It doesn’t last long however, falling into a more anxious expression. He turns around to face the door, raising his voice to address someone outside. “You can take him with you now.”

Lu Han follows the doctor’s gaze expecting to see the familiar faces of the usual servants who escort him around the brothel, but his stomach swoops at the sight of Xiumin entering instead. The Talon’s eyes are hooded and glinting in the dim lighting of the room, emphasizing his dark circles and the long scar running down his face. His appearance gives away the fact that he did not leave the brothel yet despite the late hour, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and tie loosened. His hair is pushed back and slightly wet, like his face, fresh from washing, but his eyes are on Lu Han. It raises goose bumps on the courtesan’s flesh, a wave of heat running down his spine and curling his toes. It’s a foreign feeling, the way his heart pounds at the realization that Xiumin waited all this time.

“You…?” Lu Han whispers, still in shock as he tries to string together a coherent sentence. He can’t decipher if the Talon is a friend or foe, the feeling of rejection still crawling around in his insides, right along with the warmth of being looked after when he was carried all the way to the hospital wing.

Xiumin speaks up instead, bemused as he crosses his arms, almost as if he can read Lu Han’s confusion like an open book. And maybe he can; Lu Han’s emotions must be written all over his face, unable to control them in his state of weakness, and it causes a blush to crawl up his neck and flood into his cheeks. “I’m meant to escort you back,” Xiumin supplies, expression in a permanent scowl that is hard to decipher. “Don’t think too much into it.”

Lu Han ducks his head with a nod, sheepish as pushes himself to the edge of the bed and refuses Baekhyun’s proffered help. Of course, how could he ever dream to think of anything between them? Xiumin has made it clear that Lu Han means nothing to him. “Be careful with him,” Dr. Do adds in when Lu Han struggles onto his feet, taking a few wobbly steps out of the room before his balance steadies. Lu Han jumps at the sound of his voice, forgetting that the doctor was there, face heating even more when he hears Baekhyun snicker quietly at him. Dr. Do’s brows furrow, hands on his hips and expression somber as he levels Xiumin with a look. “Don’t forget that he’s injured.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lu Han answers for him instead, offering a hesitant smile. “Don’t worry too much, Doctor.” He feels lightheaded but he plays it off with a nervous laugh, too self-conscious of the Talon’s gaze trailing after him constantly. After the initial eye contact when Lu Han was lying on the bed, the courtesan has since been avoiding looking directly into the other’s eyes for fear of feeling something he shouldn’t. It’s hard to ignore however, and combined with the heat of Xiumin’s hand burning into the small of his back, the way he leans closer every time Lu Han stumbles, Lu Han just might reach his wits end sooner than he likes.

 _It’s going to be a long walk back_ , he thinks to himself as they tread in complete silence back towards the lobby, passing the gardens. The large corridors are surprisingly deserted despite it being past closing hours, but Lu Han imagines that Boa is giving everyone a talking to in the main atrium after the fiasco that had taken place there earlier. It isn’t unusual for her to do so after an incident, and something as big as this is no different. Lu Han imagines that if Xiumin is here, then the Dragon Head probably is too. Boa must be utterly furious at the lack of control they displayed in the presence of the underground king, but Lu Han doesn’t think too much into it. Instead he recalls Baekhyun’s words, remembering the dancing dragons tattooed all over Wu Fan’s skin, worrying more about Yixing along with the feeling of Xiumin’s strong fingers curled around his uninjured side.

In the center of the brothel, blocked from the view of the casino and atrium that are located inside the hotel at the very front, are a series of mirrored staircases in a square formation that go all the way to the third floor of the brothel. There is a balcony on each floor to overlook the area below, dizzying to look down at due to the large height of each story. Two stories of the hotel are the equivalent of one for the brothel, which is much more grandiose since the El Dorado uses the hotel more as a shell. Lu Han can count on one hand for each suicide or murder that has taken place at the center stairway system since he can remember, unsurprisingly the most of them occuring at the time his father was in control.

Lu Han remembers most clearly when his father held a young servant by the neck at the second balcony, shouting furiously as he threatened to push the boy over the edge before Lu Han intervened. They’d both gotten a beating that day but the boy’s life had been spared; however Lu Han wasn’t as lucky. He was locked inside the wardrobe for nearly three days before he was rescued and carried to a hospital nearby. That had been before the hospital wing was added to the brothel, and he’d almost died that day, six years old and nearly starved to death. It wasn’t the first time he’d been near the end and it wouldn’t be the last, not until his father stepped down two years later, and yet it’s the only memory he can think about as Xiumin helps him up each marble step, slowly and carefully.

The Talon doesn’t utter a single word, patient as he silently urges Lu Han up, and it must be the biggest challenge yet. The courtesan’s wound torments him with every step he climbs, each harder than the last. It’s a searing pain that makes him short of breath, the white cotton robes he’d gotten from the hospital wing sticking to his sweaty skin. His long hair had fallen loose from the ribbon back when he’d been lying down and now plasters around his neck, more of a burden than anything, serving no other purpose at the moment but to choke him. He knows his nails must be digging into Xiumin’s forearms, but he would feel more apologetic about it if his lungs didn’t feel inflamed.

The staircase is elongated and very steep, seemingly endless, to accommodate the large size of the brothel. Normally Lu Han wouldn’t even break a sweat, so used to these steps, but his injury is weighing him down like a boulder. “I can carry you the rest of the way,” Xiumin offers when they reach the top of the second floor, Lu Han barely able to stand straight as starbursts speckle his vision.

Another wave of heat prickles up the courtesan’s neck, this time not from the fatigue but from embarrassment as he shakes his head vigorously. “No, I can do it,” he insists, choking a little on his own heavy breaths. He thinks he tastes blood and it makes him feel sick, stumbling a little.

Xiumin gives him an exasperated look, and his blind eye is unnerving when it appears to look straight through Lu Han. “You’re about to pass out. We’ll get there faster if I just do it,” he says pointedly, ignoring any protests as he bends over and easily scoops Lu Han into his arms, the courtesan giving a loud yelp as he grapples for the front of Xiumin’s vest for the second time that night. Lu Han can’t bring himself to look at the other man any longer, self-conscious beyond belief now that he can think clearer. He clams up instantly, heart beating violently at the feeling of Xiumin’s hands pressing into his skin through his robes, more thrilled than he’d ever admit.

Just as the Talon said, they reach the third floor in less than a quarter of the time it took Lu Han to get up the first flight, and by the time they reach Lu Han’s room in the North Wing, the courtesan has caught his breath. Xiumin continues to carry Lu Han even after he’s opened the door, taking him into the living area of the room, a large foyer with couches, bookshelves, a table, and the door to his extravagant bathroom. Lu Han’s window is open, letting in the cold misty air as the rain continues to pour loudly outside, just the way he likes. His fireplace was recently lit, the wood still catching fire, meaning that a servant would return later with his night robe, tea, and likely more medicine from Dr. Do.

Lu Han’s bedroom area is different from most of the other courtesan rooms in the North Wing, raised up on a loft looking over the fireplace and couches. To him it’s nothing but a well-decorated prison, meant to look swanky when he entertains his guests, and distracting when he’s alone with nothing to do but read the books his patrons give him, the shelves against every wall stuffed to the brim with all kinds of gifts he collected over the years. On the days and nights when he’s alone, the only things he looks forward to are visits from Yixing and when his usual servants take him to stroll through the El Dorado every other week.

Now that he was injured, Lu Han is more than certain that Boa will make sure he doesn’t leave the North Wing or have guests for at least a month, both to gain sympathy from the public as well as triggering donations from his wealthy clientele. _Running the brothel is like a game of chess_ , she said to him once, not long after the Dragon Head purchased the place. _And you are the key piece_. Her grip on his shoulder had been so tight that Lu Han had a bruise in the shape of her fingers for several days afterward, but her words were heard very loud and clear. Lu Han was serving a life sentence in the brothel for committing no other crime but being born too beautiful for his own good. Sometimes he wonders if all the people fixated with him knew that he was human, that he was more than just his beauty, but the conclusion is always the same.

No one cares about him; all they care about is his face.

This is why Xiumin’s behavior baffles him, rejecting Lu Han outright when he tried to give what everyone always wants from him, and yet showing kindness when Lu Han has nothing to offer in return. He wonders how much of it is an order and how much of it is Xiumin’s own choice, and lost in his thoughts he almost doesn’t realize that Xiumin is heading towards the stairs leading up to the loft.

“You can leave me on the couch,” Lu Han says suddenly, breaking the long silence they’d had from the second floor to his room. “I still have to change and take medication, so a servant will be here to help me soon.”

Xiumin stops to look at Lu Han, as if assessing him, before turning around without a word and kneeling so he can carefully deposit the courtesan on the couch. He’s so careful when he does it, Lu Han’s skin burning hot even through the fabric at every place Xiumin’s body comes into contact with his, and before he can think to stop himself, Lu Han blurts, “Why are you being so kind right now?”

The Talon freezes in place, arms still curled underneath Lu Han’s body. His lifts his dark gaze, eyes sharp when they meet Lu Han’s. He’s looking through him again, and Lu Han swallows thickly. “Would you rather I treated you poorly?” Xiumin questions back, and he sounds annoyed. Speaking to him is like treading dangerous water, unsure of what to expect in any given moment, and Lu Han shivers, the hairs rising on the back of his neck as his mouth dries up again.

“In front of the _Duizhang_ … you cursed at me. I was sure t-that you—” Lu Han stammers, unable to look away from Xiumin’s seeing eye, heart in his throat as he tries to breathe.

“That I hated you?” Xiumin cuts in, lips curling in a snarl, irate, reminiscent of the spiteful man in the entertainment room. He drops Lu Han on the couch in favor of standing so that he shadows him. “You’re right, I do. I hate pathetic people like you. I hate people who are fake and can’t do a damn thing for themselves. I _do_ hate you.”

Lu Han jolts at the amount of anger in his voice, the way he glares at Lu Han like he’d rather be anywhere else; in the face of such anger Lu Han’s body doesn’t know how to respond, blood pounding in his ears and entire body flushed with embarrassment. Still, he tries to defend himself in the way he couldn’t when others were watching, lifting himself onto his elbows and voice shaking as he speaks. “I’m not fake,” he replies, quieter than he’d like as he fights to get the words out of his mouth, “and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“So, what then?” Xiumin sneers, pushing back his hair from where it had fallen onto his eyes after it dried. He looks absolutely dangerous, fearsome even in the way he smiles, and Lu Han’s heart is stuck somewhere in his throat as he stares up at him with round eyes. “Would you rather I’d fucked you in front of everyone? Had you choke on my dick while the _Duizhang_ watched? Would I be considered _kind_ then, if I hadn’t stopped you?”

His explicit words paint a vividly licentious picture in Lu Han’s mind, and immediately a strong wave of arousal that’s been forestalling under his skin since the first time he laid eyes on Xiumin sets Lu Han’s entire body on fire, his breaths shortening as his fingers and toes curl into the material of the couch. He can literally feel his skin prickle in want, his bottom half twitching, and immediately Lu Han drops his gaze in humiliation. He can’t even bring himself to speak, and his heart literally feels like it’s about to explode right out of his ribcage. Lu Han almost hopes that Xiumin doesn’t notice. _Almost_.

Xiumin’s eyes glint dangerously when he realizes without delay the effect his words have on Lu Han, and it makes him laugh darkly. “So _this_ is what this is all about,” he taunts, climbing onto the couch so that he looms over Lu Han. The courtesan’s arms give away immediately as he lies helplessly under the Talon, lips parted in disbelief as he stares back up at the other man, startled at how quickly the situation escalated and how much he desperately wants it to continue.

Lu Han whimpers when Xiumin undoes the belt of his robes with no preamble, biting into his lower lip as his clothes fall open and leave him bereft in the cool air. Xiumin’s rough hand runs a fiery trail up his thigh and goes straight between Lu Han’s parted legs, the Talon’s eyes flashing impatiently as he circles it around Lu Han’s half-hard cock. The courtesan’s hips push up into him willingly without hesitation, the reaction like a second nature to him. Realizing how needy his response was, Lu Han’s cheeks flush darker, but no matter how embarrassed he is he can no longer look away, his own fingers curling tightly around Xiumin’s biceps in an attempt to pull him near.

Xiumin is handsome in a way that feels like someone punched you in the abdomen, his dark hair falling over his forehead when it’s not pushed back and skin tanned from the amount of time he’s spent outside. His seeing eye scalds him as he continues to look right through Lu Han and straight to his core, and up close Lu Han can see that his scar goes further down past his collar than he originally thought. Lu Han wants him on him, in him, all over him—and desperately so. His eyes must say it because the Talon indulges him straightaway. Xiumin kisses just like he behaves, moving in slowly before he crushes their lips together without warning, bruising and harsh as he bites and sucks on Lu Han’s pink lips. Their teeth clash for a second when he makes Lu Han open his mouth, tongue delving in between parted lips and sucking the air right out of Lu Han’s lungs. He’s rough and unforgiving, his hand painfully dry as he palms Lu Han’s dick, but the kisses are extremely distracting and make Lu Han’s eyes water when air doesn’t seem to enter his lungs fast enough.

“I should have known that this is what you wanted,” Xiumin hisses when he breaks the kiss, panting when he presses close again, lips against Lu Han’s throat as he speaks. “A whore is a whore, after all. Your body is the most honest thing about you.” His teeth dig into the flesh of Lu Han’s neck when he drags it up, his breath agonizingly hot as he bites down and makes Lu Han moan aloud. The pain of the bite negates the twinge in his waist from the wound, his cock already starting to leak from the eagerness.

Lu Han can’t remember the last time his body reacted so wantonly to something without his command. Everything he does is carefully planned, right down to the last orgasm, and yet he is completely out of control right now. He bends to Xiumin’s every whim, breathless and wanting as the Talon spits on his palm and pumps Lu Han relentlessly until he begins to fall apart. The courtesan doesn’t even hear when the servant comes into his room with tea, the sound of her startled squeak drowned in the desperate cry he releases at the feeling of Xiumin’s thumb digging into the crease of his cockhead, legs spread shamelessly as he pushes up into the Talon’s hand. He barely registers Xiumin asking her to leave the medicine on the table and to bring an oil pot instead, and the realization that Xiumin wants to fuck him brings him so close to orgasm that Lu Han nearly loses it.

“If you want to cum, cum,” Xiumin breathes hotly against Lu Han’s jaw, his teeth leaving a trail of bites all along his neck and down his chest. He let’s go of Lu Han’s cock, almost making the courtesan whine in protest before he feels the pressure of a finger pressing against his entrance, a little loose from a patron visit earlier that day, but still not enough to where he can push in without lubricant. “I’m still going to fuck you until you can’t breathe.”

His words make Lu Han’s body spasm, and with the combined feeling of Xiumin’s dry finger rubbing against his opening, Lu Han cums in spurts all over himself, gasping for breath. He isn’t given much time to calm down before he hears the clatter of an oil pot being deposited on the table. Without the haze of desire clouding his thoughts, Lu Han’s neck prickles in mortification when he realizes that the servant just saw him orgasm. Xiumin doesn’t seem bothered in the least, reaching over to lube up his hand, but he smirks when he sees Lu Han’s blushing face.

“Embarrassed?” he scoffs, unceremoniously spreading Lu Han’s legs wider and settling in between them, pushing them up and apart so that the courtesan’s knees bracket his waist. The courtesan’s wound stings painfully again, this time more constant due to the change in position, but when Lu Han catches sight of Xiumin’s dick tenting his pants, it has his own twitching back to attention despite already being spent. Lu Han does his best to not cover his face from the shame, unsure how to explain it. He’s had sex casually before with other prostitutes and servants, less in recent years once he had Yixing, but something about the way Xiumin handles him so roughly, almost intimately, his focus entirely on Lu Han in a way that he hasn’t had anyone really focus before, makes him feel strange. Xiumin hates him, hates the Lu Han that everyone loves, and that is something Lu Han can’t even begin to explain.

Xiumin isn’t waiting for an explanation however, oiled finger slipping easily into Lu Han’s hole. “Looks like you’ve been busy today,” he growls, and he sounds almost jealous, the possessive grip his other hand has on Lu Han’s thigh tightening to the point of bruising. He presses his finger deeper inside, adding another and searching until Lu Han jolts, a gasp escaping past his lips when Xiumin rubs the patch of nerves with the pads of his fingers. He continues to abuse the spot, Lu Han squirming and whimpering until he’s fully hard again, cock a vivid shade of red and too sensitive to touch as it curves up towards his abdomen.

Despite Lu Han’s whines rising in varied degrees of desperation against the Talon’s mouth as he kisses him, Xiumin takes his time in spreading him open, three fingers pumping in and out as Lu Han leaks profusely over his stomach, the fluid mixing with the cum drying from before. It’s embarrassing and Lu Han feels lewd, legs spread so wide as Xiumin fingers him, covered in his own release and canting his hips up for a better angle. The Talon watches him while they kiss, as if studying him; Lu Han can feel the intensity of his stare even with his own eyes closed, wheezing as begins to fall apart a second time.

He barely registers it when Xiumin pulls his fingers out, but when he does he sobs, eyes opening as Xiumin breaks their kiss. Lu Han’s voice cuts off immediately when he watches Xiumin free his dick from the confines of his pants, slicking up with what’s left of the oil before guiding it to Lu Han’s fluttering hole. Without hesitation, the blunt head of cock presses insistently against Lu Han’s entrance until it slides in, sheathing himself inside so easily that it makes his eyes water from how good it feels. Xiumin’s eyes are closed after he mounts him, lips parted as he breathes heavily, brows furrowed and looking angry even when he’s feeling good.

Lu Han’s vision swims at the sensation of being filled up to the brim, the starbursts returning to spot his vision. Xiumin’s cock is thick and stretches his rim almost dangerously, despite being prepared so thoroughly. Even though he already orgasmed once, Lu Han feels himself pulling apart at the seams much quicker than before, his breath hitching when Xiumin begins rocking into him. Xiumin doesn’t take his time like he had when he was fingering him, fucking Lu Han ruthlessly almost as soon as he’s settled inside. His rough fingers dig harshly into the courtesan’s pale thighs, forcing him to curl up on himself even more. Lu Han’s wound stings now, painful and throbbing as Xiumin’s cock pistons in and out of him, the vulgar wet sound of Lu Han’s body sucking him back in every time making his blush return tenfold. He can’t concentrate on any one thing but the all-consuming pleasure, breathing constricting because of his curled up position, and the pain from his wound burning him up from the inside out. He’s out of his own body, giving every last piece of himself to the older man.

“Is this the face that everyone sees? The sounds they hear?” Xiumin suddenly asks aloud, panting, and the tears that had gathered in Lu Han’s eyes spill down his temple, wet trails that disappear into his hair as he gasps for air. In that moment his vision clears, and the Xiumin looking down at him is so startlingly familiar, reminiscent of someone he once knew, that it catches him off guard. Xiumin’s eyes are unwavering as he watches Lu Han carefully, leaving the courtesan speechless and unsure how to answer. His concentration breaks when his balls suddenly pull tight, closing in on his climax as his mind struggles to catch up to his body, cock twitching and spine arching.

Lu Han’s eyes roll back when he cums for a second time, orgasm hitting him harder than before, Xiumin’s name on his lips. He’s not even sure if he’s even allowed to say it, but he can’t think straight with the Talon’s cock buried so deep inside of him, goose bumps forming on Lu Han’s skin when his warm seed spills inside of him. Xiumin doesn’t wait around long, pulling out when he catches his breath, and Lu Han can feel the semen trickling out of his tender rim. It stains his robe that is still underneath him, sparing the couch.

Lu Han’s entire body hurts, feeling the stinging of the bruises forming on the insides of his thighs and the bites along his neck and collarbones, but most of all the aching pain of his wound. He’s exhausted, vision blackening around the edges. He barely registers Xiumin’s voice when he speaks, sounding far away and yet still so angry—always so angry. When he looks up, he’s startled to see Xiumin’s clothes fastened, hair wet and pushed back as he looks down at Lu Han on the couch. Lu Han must have lost consciousness for a few minutes, spent as he was, and he blinks up at the other in confusion.

“Are you happy now that you got what you wanted?” the Talon questions him again after feeding Lu Han the medication, his gaze too piercing, too indifferent as he adjusts his tie. He’s leaving now.

Lu Han wants to tell him no. He wants to tell him no because Lu Han has no idea what he wants from him. His body craves Xiumin’s forcefulness, his cruel stare that somehow looks right through him and sees the real Lu Han, the Lu Han he’d buried under his courtesan mask ten years ago, the Lu Han he pretends not to be when he’s in front of others, the Lu Han he only remembers when night terrors wake him screaming in the middle of the night. Xiumin somehow saw the ugliness inside and still wanted him, still wanted to spread Lu Han open and make him lose whatever control on life he thought he had.

Instead, he falls asleep.

 

x x x

 

When Lu Han wakes he’s no longer hurting, the pain medication in his system making sure of that. Still, it’s hard to use the stairs and walk very far without feeling like he’s being shot again, so he hasn’t left his room since waking. As usual, a servant had come for him in the morning and found him passed out on the couch, dirtied from the sex he’d had despite being injured. Xiumin hadn’t been sympathetic and left him there, but Lu Han brought that upon himself, so he wasn’t expecting anything to begin with. He was, however, embarrassed to be seen like that by a second person, as normally he likes to appear put together after seeing clients, but Xiumin was no client—not even close.

Lu Han’s humiliation dawdles away while the servant helps him bathe, changing his bandages and taking a new dose of pain medication the doctor sent along with some fresh tea. While she loosely braids his hair, the servant explains to him exactly what Lu Han expected: Boa doesn’t want him leaving the third floor for a month to raise curiosity and gain sympathy, and no one but his usual servants and the other courtesans in the North Wing would be allowed to see him. He isn’t surprised that the Madame didn’t come to say this to him herself as she is a busy woman, so he doesn’t ask further, but he can’t help but feel a little disappointed knowing that he won’t be able to see anyone for a month.

Normally Yixing would drop by after Lu Han gets ready in the morning, as the escort has cleaning duties for the North Wing every day, but today Lu Han is greeted by two of his usual servants that end up cleaning instead. It’s happened before and at first he thinks nothing of it, assuming that Yixing must not be allowed to see him as well. Instead he settles at the small table near his favorite window—the only one that actually opens—with an open book until they leave. He figures that eventually Yixing will find a way to sneak into his room, but for now he can just wait it out. Lu Han would have gotten lost in the text if the discomfort in his backside didn’t keep bothering him, cheeks feeling warm when he remembers the hand-shaped bruises Xiumin left all over the insides of his thighs. He can still feel the teeth digging into the skin of neck, his hot breath, and Lu Han buries his face into his book when his thoughts get too out of hand.

Thinking of the Talon reminds him of his talk with Baekhyun, something or another about dragons. Lu Han jolts to his feet when he finally puts it together; Baekhyun had insinuated that Yixing had come to see him in the hospital wing with the Dragon Head himself! Panicking at the sudden realization, Lu Han fixes his robes and hobbles outside of his room as fast as he can. He’s about to head downstairs to speak with someone and find out what happened, to hell with orders, but something peculiar catches his eye at the back end of the hall. He squints a little and sees a familiar figure standing in front of the double doors and Lu Han can barely believe his eyes as he approaches and realizes that it is none other than Xiumin.

The Talon stands guard in front of the Dragon Room, the only room in the North Wing that remains unused and is obviously reserved for Wu Fan if he ever came to visit. He never did, except for last night, and the curiosity practically forces him towards Xiumin. He’s wearing a new suit, all black from head to toe, hair pushed back and looking almost as handsome as he did panting over Lu Han’s body… The thought makes the courtesan blush, feeling unexpectedly giddy to see him so soon. He’s not sure why, considering how much Xiumin hates him, but he likes how different it feels from the usual dreariness of his daily life.

“Is the _Duizhang_ inside?” Lu Han asks, but Xiumin completely ignores him in favor of continuing to stare down the empty hall. The courtesan finds himself pouting, something he thinks he’s only ever seen Baekhyun do when Dr. Do reprimands him, and he moves closer. “Tell me, who’s inside with him?” he tries again, hesitating before he reaches to tug on Xiumin’s sleeve.

“Don’t touch me,” Xiumin grunts immediately, glowering at Lu Han as he yanks his arm away, but not with as much force as he probably could have if Lu Han’s wasn’t wounded. Lu Han thinks of this small display of restraint as a minor victory, not minding the venom in Xiumin’s words since he’s not being ignored, which is somehow far worse than being cursed at. “And the _Duizhang_ isn’t inside anymore. He left this morning at dawn.”

“So then why are you still here?” Lu Han wonders, brows furrowing in confusion as Xiumin returns to crossing his arms, staring down the large corridor of the North Wing again and offering no further explanation. The Talon sighs heavily when Lu Han continues to pester him, something even Lu Han is surprised that he’s doing, but knowing that Xiumin already despises him, Lu Han no longer bothers with pretending to be detached and composed the way everyone thinks he is.

“I’m guarding the room like I’m supposed to,” Xiumin finally explains, “Because I have the duty of protecting the courtesan _Duizhang_ purchased.”

Lu Han wonders who it could possibly be, considering that there are only three of them to begin with ever since Baekhyun was given to the doctor. With another one of them being taken off the market now that Wu Fan’s reserved them for himself, there will only be two courtesans left, including Lu Han himself. “Is it Soojung?” he asks, since she’s a plausible answer considering how beautiful she is, feisty yet mannered when she needs to be. However, Lu Han can’t imagine her capturing Wu Fan’s attention to the point of being reserved by him. As much as the Dragon Head enjoys playing games, he doesn’t like being played with.

Xiumin shakes his head, glancing back at Lu Han as if contemplating whether or not he should answer. “No,” he begins, looking the courtesan in the eye as he talks, causing a prickle to run up Lu Han’s back as his interest peaks. “The one who helped you.”

“You mean Baekhyun? But he belongs to the doctor!” Lu Han exclaims, dismayed when he remembers the way Baekhyun’s eyes lit up excitedly when he tried to tell Lu Han about the Dragon Head visiting the hospital wing. Baekhyun was much happier now that he no longer was a courtesan, and Lu Han feels sick thinking about how he might have been forced back into it. But again, the Talon shakes his head, and Lu Han feels even more confused because no one else had helped him. No one else, except…

Lu Han’s heart stops, the ground feeling like it just opened up underneath him.

“He bought Zhang Yixing,” Xiumin finally tells him wryly, and he’s not looking at Lu Han anymore when he says this, gaze fixed to the end of the hall again.

Lu Han can’t even speak any more, throat tightening painfully at the thought of Yixing being taken away somewhere without him, leaving Lu Han in the brothel alone for the rest of his life. The idea in itself is too much for him to wrap his head around. His body suddenly feels too hot, aching horribly despite the medication and too heavy for his legs to hold up any longer. He stumbles, overcome with dizziness, before his vision goes black and he falls.


	6. Part Five: Turn the Tide.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 10,984

The trek to the hospital wing is spent in silence, Yixing hyper aware of the Dragon Head walking just behind him as the escort leads the way through the deserted halls. Despite the fact that those dark eyes are no longer trained on him, Yixing can still somehow feel their lingering presence on his skin. He has an inkling that it might just be Wu Fan’s guards, the six other Talons minus the one who was with Lu Han, watching his every move, and the very thought has the hairs of the escort’s neck standing on end as he tries to appear as calm as possible.

Despite the fact that the triad leader guaranteed Yixing that it was fine to visit Lu Han before their impromptu rendezvous in the brothel, Yixing can’t help but feel apprehensive over it, even if it was the taller man’s suggestion to begin with. It’s hard to relax when you’re completely unsure how much of this gentleness is an act, or for how long the _Duizhang’s_ kindness will last him. It feels almost like the calm before the storm, an hourglass running out of time, and it creates a churning in his gut that keeps him on edge. He worries his bottom lip raw with his chattering teeth, practically drowning in anxious thoughts over what he would do when the time finally came, just the two of them all alone in a room where no one could hear his cries for help. Even if they did, they wouldn’t do anything—he would be at the mercy of a man who could eat him alive.

If the Dragon Head takes notice of Yixing’s trembling figure, he says nothing.

As they near the back of the third building where the hospital wing is located, they pass through the open corridor surrounding El Dorado’s elaborate garden, situated in the center of the communal establishment. It smells of wet earth from the rain, the foliage glistening in the pale moonlight that steals all the color and bathes everything in a gradient of black and white. The tiles here are wet from the water spray, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the dark silence. Yixing wishes that there were people milling about, just to make the walk seem less suggestive of an impending doom, but he knows that Boa gathered everyone in the hotel atrium at the front to give them all an earful. It’s unusual for him to be left alone with such an important guest, let alone the king of the underground, even with the Dragon Head’s guards trailing not too far behind them. Then again, absolutely nothing about today has been as usual, especially for Yixing.

When Yixing finally sees Lu Han again, his heart feels peaceful for the first time in what felt like hours. The older man is fast asleep in a cot, his long, dark hair a stark contrast against the white pillow sheet. He’s not sweating or in pain, and his brows are not furrowed like they usually are when a nightmare poisons his sleep. Tears well in Yixing’s eyes, and the relief he feels in his chest knowing that Lu Han is alive and will stay that way for some time allows his breaths to come easy. He holds tightly onto Lu Han’s hand for as long as he will be allowed, vaguely aware of the muted rumble of the Dragon Head’s low voice as he speaks to the Talon called Xiumin just outside the room.

As time continues to tick by, Yixing has half a mind to shake Lu Han until he wakes up, apprehension slowly returning and making his chest feel too tight for air to enter his lungs. He wants to ask the courtesan what he should do, how he should speak, how he needs to behave so that he will live to see his friend’s face again. Lu Han would be horrified if he woke up to learn that Yixing was dead, just as Yixing had been when he discovered his friend in the lobby not even two hours ago.

Yixing is so afraid, so terribly afraid of the man they call a demon, the living nightmare; he is the kind of man that could pull out a gun and shoot one of his own men in the face without a second of hesitation, the kind of man who held so possessively onto Yixing’s wrist that he left a darkening bruise in the shape of his fingers, all because he wanted to play with him like some sort of children’s toy. The Dragon Head found something amusing about him, something worth the attention, and Yixing is so scared that when it inevitably comes down to it, the Dragon Head will learn that the escort isn’t very interesting at all. Yixing is not frightened of death, no—he is terrified of Wu Fan.

Time waits for no one however, and Yixing feels a tap on his shoulder that startles him out of his dark thoughts. He glances over to see the familiar face of one of Boa’s personal servants, a woman with short hair and a kind smile. She signals for Yixing to follow her outside, and the escort’s heart beats so hard that it feels like it will come out of his throat when he realizes that the moment has come. He stands up from the chair with shaky legs and glances back down at Lu Han one last time, lips pressed together tightly, before he finally exits the room. Immediately he catches the Dragon Head’s dark eyes; they’re hard to miss since the _Duizhang_ has them trained on the doorway, waiting for Yixing to come out.

Yixing flinches visibly at the contact, dropping his gaze immediately, but not before he gets a good look at the dancing dragons glaring right back at him from just behind Wu Fan’s open collar on the skin of his neck. He’s heard how each dragon on the triad leader’s body symbolizes a man he’d killed by his own hand, and Yixing morbidly wonders if he’ll be adding two more after today, one for the man he’d killed in the lobby and one for Yixing in just a few more moments. The thought makes him nauseous, even if Wu Fan had told him earlier that he didn’t want to hurt him. Yixing has been through enough to know not to take anyone’s word wholeheartedly, that things can change in the blink of an eye. He can only hope that the _Duizhang_ will not go back on his word.

Boa’s servant leads them through the communal building and back into the center of the brothel where a stairway system will take them to the top floor. Yixing has been to the brothel’s third floor quite often, but only ever to fulfill his cleaning duties. It is how he and Lu Han are able to meet with each other a few times a week, when Yixing has the responsibility of cleaning all the suites in the North Wing. The chambers in the North Wing are the largest and most expensive of them all; normally a team of two or three people would clean them together in order to save time, but no one wants to partner up with Yixing and no one wants to clean them either. The other prostitutes and servants would always pair off and choose other wings to clean before Yixing even gets to the storage room in the communal building for his cleaning supplies, purposefully avoiding working with him. Not that he minds—he prefers being alone with his thoughts anyway. Or at least, that was until Lu Han started accompanying him while he cleaned, chattering away and filling up the emptiness Yixing feels when he is by himself. Nowadays he chooses to clean that wing just to see his friend, uncaring of the workload.

Luckily for Yixing, despite the chambers being large in size, they aren’t used as much. These suites are purchased by the most important of their high-ranking clientele; a few of the suites even being reserved permanently. Of course, not all of the rooms are reserved to patrons, like The Dawn Room, where Lu Han resides. Since high profile clients normally come to see the luxury courtesans on the top floor of the brothel, they have entire rooms to themselves there. Aside from Lu Han there are two more courtesans who live in the North Wing, but they are Korean and rarely acknowledge Yixing’s presence—not because they are being unpleasant, but more due to the fact that they are normally too wrapped up in each other to pay any mind to someone like him.

Being reserved only for highly influential customers means that the three of them are rarely allowed to leave their floor; the only reason Lu Han is ever able to walk about El Dorado is because he is the face of the brothel, but after the shooting incident, Yixing doubts they’ll allow him out for a long time. He’ll need to visit Lu Han often so he doesn’t lose his mind, as the other two courtesans, Soojung and Sunyoung, spent most of their time glued to each other’s sides and pestering Lu Han when they are bored of sleeping with each other in their off time. That’s if Yixing survives tonight, anyway.

The Scarlet Room, one of the largest rooms, located at the very beginning of the North Wing, belongs to the Madame. It is where she lives on the days she chose not to leave the El Dorado, and where she would probably stay tonight. The Sapphire Room is reserved for a notorious opium smuggler, a frightening and short-tempered man who constantly smells of tobacco, has five wives, and more offspring than Yixing can actually count. The Golden Room belongs to a fabric merchant, a large man who laughs too much and drinks at least half of the brothel’s alcohol supply whenever he stays for a few nights. Even with these seven preoccupied rooms, the North Wing is still large, with twelve chambers in total. Yixing doesn’t normally have to completely clean them unless they have actually been used, and the monotony of cleaning room after room for a few hours is actually more soothing than it would seem.

There is, of course, one other reserved suite all the way at the far end of the North Wing, complete opposite to The Scarlet Room. It is a curious chamber that remained untouched since the day it was reserved, impeccably furnished with the most expensive items imaginable, and nearly twice the size of the Madame’s room. Whoever is to tend to the North Wing that day is supposed to clean that room no matter what, despite its lack of use. By name it is obvious as to who it is for—The Dragon Room hardly leaves much to the imagination—and Yixing has spent enough time scrubbing every tile and object to memorize the placement of every little thing to the point where he could clean it in his sleep, if he so wished.

Which is why it is all the more frightening to be in such a familiar place but to feel so completely out of his element, standing awkwardly by a bedpost with his eyes on the floor, the Dragon Head seated across from him on the expensive couch Yixing dusted religiously almost every day for the past three years he’s been here. Yixing is too scared to even breathe properly, and he knows what he has to do but he’s not sure how he’s supposed to go about doing it for someone like Wu Fan so instead he just stands there uneasily. Boa’s servant had left two warm pots of oil on the bedside table, allowing the Talons to inspect the room before escorting them back outside and leaving Yixing all alone with the _Duizhang_. She offered no words of encouragement, not that he expected her to since he doesn’t even know her name, but she did spare him a sympathetic glance before shutting the large double doors firmly behind her.

Yixing is still trembling as he has been for a while now and he inhales a shaky breath, knowing that the most important part of beguiling a customer is eye contact. Technically someone like Yixing could get killed for doing such an impolite thing to the triad leader, so he remains conflicted despite the fact that he already gaped ignorantly back at Wu Fan earlier in the lobby. After some time he comes to the conclusion that the _Duizhang_ had to have given him permission to make eye contact since Yixing is still somehow very much alive, and for the next few seconds he struggles to weigh down his paralyzing fear. When Yixing finally musters the courage to look up at the Dragon Head, he lets out a yelp of surprise to find the gang leader already watching him intensely. It sends a violent shiver up his spine, toes curling deep into the soft carpet underfoot. His heart is pounding somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, clogging up his already very little oxygen supply, and Yixing thinks he may pass out. Still, he somehow manages to keep the frazzled ends of his wits together, simply looking back down again.

Wu Fan is not unpleasant to look at, to say the least; it would almost be too easy to play into his arms, if only Yixing wasn’t so damn frightened out of his mind by the mere thought of being embraced by the most powerful and dangerous man in the underground. “You are afraid,” Wu Fan suddenly decides to say aloud, breaking the long string of silence stretched out between them, his tone low like honey and making Yixing jump again. Yixing knows that the taller man expects a reply, and since he doesn’t trust his own voice he just nods jerkily instead, his eyes still fixed on the floor between his feet, stealing glances every now and then to check if the other is still looking at him. He is, of course—Yixing can sense that fiery gaze burning into his face, sweat starting to bead on his upper lip as he begins to feel too hot.

“It’s wise to be afraid,” the Dragon Head continues while crossing one endless leg over the other, long fingers tapping against the crimson velvet sheet draped over the couch. “It’s not often that I am left alone with someone without their blood staining my hands.” He says it so casually that it takes Yixing a few seconds to process his words before his stomach starts to churn again, nausea returning ten-fold. “But that depends on whether or not you are with me.” Wu Fan’s words are calm but they are laced with a heaviness that is almost too much of a burden for Yixing to bear on his shoulders. “Are you against me, Yixing?” Startled by the question, Yixing finally lifts his head to properly meet the Dragon Head’s eyes. It was a bad decision to do so because now he is trapped, like a bug caught in the web of a spider, mouth going dry and heart pounding violently. “You need to answer me,” the gang leader orders, voice still serene but also grave.

Yixing jumps, stumbles for words when he realizes that he didn’t respond, thin fingers curling into the long sleeves of his robes. “N-No, my lord. I have no reason to wish so. I’ve never—” he swallows thickly, choking out the rest of his answer, “—I’ve a-always felt safest, here.” Yixing is proud of himself, managing to get the words out without slurring them or sounding too inept. He doesn’t get a chance to delight in this small victory for long because then the most amazing thing happens—Wu Fan’s dark gaze softens. His eyebrows are still furrowed and his expression is still severe, but there is a kindness in his eyes that makes something strange fizz up in Yixing’s chest.

“Then why are you so afraid, Yixing?” the Dragon Head questions. His voice, though low, is gentle, and Yixing likes the way his name sounds the more and more Wu Fan says it, tongue fitting the pronunciation the way it’s supposed to. The elder has not moved a centimeter from where he is seated but it feels almost as if he is rubbing Yixing’s back soothingly just by speaking calmly; it’s a sort of compassion that Yixing has only ever found in Lu Han, but it is so much more profound coming from the man seated across from him because there is solidity in the Dragon Head’s eyes—none of that fragile fantasy that Lu Han’s entire existence has become, his words and assurances hollow because he has no real power to see them through.

Yixing finds that he can no longer hold the Dragon Head’s intense gaze, instead letting his eyes fall onto his hands again, cheeks burning hot. The unpleasant feeling curdling in the pit of his stomach has calmed significantly, making it easier for Yixing to find words. It takes a few minutes for the prostitute to answer, but Wu Fan is ever patient, not looking away from Yixing once as he observes him. “I’m afraid I’m not good enough to please you, my lord,” he quietly admits, biting the inside of his cheek. It’s the truth, a timid flare of insecurity straight from his heart. He’s taking a leap here, admitting this weakness, not that he was the picture of confidence before. The one thing a prostitute should never do is admitting to their incompetence.

Yixing chances another glance at the Dragon Head when Wu Fan takes too long to respond, only to find that the older man is smirking a little, amusement twinkling in his eyes. He doesn’t look angry or upset so Yixing takes the reaction positively. “I’ve never lain with a prostitute,” the taller says after a while, his long fingers still tapping against the couch. “I don’t make it a habit to waste precious time on something that will not last.”

The next words come out of Yixing’s mouth without thinking, which is very unusual for him. “Then why…?” _Why are you here? Why did you pick me?_ Yixing almost asks these questions but he bites his tongue in shock, withdrawing a bit and letting his gaze fall again apologetically. He’s getting too careless, nearly forgetting the glaring dragon tattoos that continue to glower back at Yixing from their positions on the Dragon Head’s neck and remind him just who exactly he’s speaking to. The escort is not used to holding a conversation with anyone that’s not Lu Han, and the lack of experience seems to be getting ahead of him. It’s actually more shocking how easily the triad leader coaxes the words out of him, and how quick Yixing is to supply them. He reasons that the element of fear definitely helps, but there is something inviting about the way the taller man speaks, hypnotizing in a way that isn’t far off from the way Lu Han draws people in.

Wu Fan’s chuckle catches Yixing off guard again, breaking his concentration, and when he looks up once more he finds that the gang leader’s position has grown more casual, elbow now on the armrest as he leans his head against his hand. He’s still watching Yixing like he’s the most amusing thing he’s ever seen, and it makes Yixing blush even darker. “Why, indeed?” is all he offers, not really answering. A silence falls between them but it is no longer as uncomfortable as before; this is the most Yixing has ever spoken with a client and it is quickly reaching the length of the longest two-sided conversation Yixing has held with even Lu Han.

Since he was young Yixing hasn’t been much of a speaker, always more of a listener—not because he hates to speak, but because it was difficult at first, and as he grew older he became more and more afraid to do so. But Wu Fan is tolerant and doesn’t mind waiting for Yixing’s tongue to catch up with his mind, watching him with careful and interested eyes and never rushing him. Yixing knows that his Mandarin isn’t perfect, that his slang and lack of vocabulary makes him sound as uneducated and classless as he is, but Wu Fan doesn’t seem to mind in the least. It makes Yixing’s chest feel tight in the strangest way, filling him with a peculiar feeling he can’t wrap his head around. He’s never felt so important before in his life, not since Lu Han cried while bandaging Yixing’s bleeding wrists.

“I don’t have much time,” Wu Fan says after a while of them just looking at each other, Yixing blushing bright pink while the gang leader simply observes him in silent entertainment. “I didn’t plan on coming here, you see. It is Xiumin’s birthday and I wanted him to meet with a courtesan, yet he refused to even look at them. Then, somehow, I ended up here. But it would be a shame for me to leave like this, wouldn’t you agree?”

Yixing nods in agreement, biting his lip and swallowing thickly, unable to hide the jolt of nervousness that travels all over his body when he realizes that he can no longer postpone the inevitable—he is a prostitute after all, and it is time to do his job. His heartbeat picks up speed as he lifts his hand to tuck a strand of his dark hair behind his ear; his hair isn’t very long, soft brown waves making it seem even shorter despite the fact that it grazes over his eyes when wet. Lu Han likes to run his fingers through Yixing’s hair when they’re not doing anything, always talking about how jealous he is of Yixing’s curls. The younger would rather have Lu Han’s straight black hair that hangs low down to his waist any day, but he knows that his hair is nice. It’s tempting to pull and tug, and when he sweats, it sticks to his pale skin prettily.

Technically he knows this part of the evening too well as he’s done it so many times now, several years of practice in his history. And yet Yixing is caught up in trying to figure out the best way he should attend to Wu Fan, feeling a strange mix of unease and eagerness for the first time. He’s still terrified in every sense of the word, but for some reason he feels like he can trust Wu Fan not to kill him—those dark eyes of his know exactly what they want at all times, commanding and persuasive, and Yixing would like to see those same intense eyes look at him with desire. The idea is as frightening as it is tempting, an alarmingly foreign feeling.

Suddenly Wu Fan speaks again, and his words startle Yixing out of his thoughts. “I would like to watch, if you don’t mind. I’m curious about you.”

“M-My lord?” Yixing stutters out, eyes wide in astonishment; he can’t believe what he just heard. “W-Watch?”

The Dragon Head only offers a smile, pleasant, nothing in his expression betraying his thoughts. It’s scary how he can change so suddenly, appearing empathetic and generous one second, then ominous and enigmatic the next. He is snake-like and cunning, a man of many contradictions and so much power, and it reminds Yixing to continue to be fearful lest he falls into a trap unbidden. “I’ve somewhere to be,” the taller reminds, explaining with a casual wave of his hand. Yixing’s heart gives a precarious lurch when Wu Fan suddenly stands, removing his suit jacket and dropping it carelessly on the couch. Even from a distance it feels like he’s towering over Yixing and the escort has a hard time swallowing, pulse going wild as he watches the gang leader walk casually around to get to the bed. Even the way he moves seems dangerous, elegant as he sits on the mattress with his back against the headboard, and Yixing has turned around completely to face him from the bedpost. Wu Fan smirks then, daunting in a way that makes the air run out of Yixing’s lungs. “I don’t have as much time as I’d like to learn about you, so I’d rather you just showed me.”

When Yixing finally understands that the Dragon Head is being completely serious, his entire body flushes red. He’s never been asked to do something like this; no one has ever wondered what he liked. It isn’t unusual for him not to orgasm, and sometimes he doesn’t even get hard. The sort of customers he receives never care, they just want to relieve themselves. Many times they don’t even enjoy touching him and ask only to be touched themselves—it isn’t about Yixing after all, it’s about _them_. He imagines that this sort of act is something courtesans are asked to do, putting on a show as they touch themselves enticingly, and now Yixing is even more afraid of disappointing. He hasn’t self-pleasured in a long time, so long that he can’t even remember the last time he even desired to do so, and now he has even less of an idea where to begin, what he should do, especially with an audience. When Yixing continues to look at Wu Fan unsurely, the Dragon Head seems to catch onto his cluelessness. Instead of frustration, the amusement in his expression only seems to grow, as if he finds Yixing’s internal dilemma quaint, and it only makes Yixing’s cheeks blush harder.

“Perhaps you should begin by removing your robes?” the _Duizhang_ suggests, gesturing at Yixing’s clothing. Hit with sudden realization that he should have at least thought of this much, Yixing looks away in mortification before immediately reaching to loosen the tight sash around his waist with trembling hands. He can feel Wu Fan’s gaze on him and it makes his skin prickle, sending little electrified shocks down his spine with every breath. The sash drops to the floor gently, robes falling loose about his person. Yixing swallows thickly as he holds his clothing closed, feeling naked already even though he’s still covered, attempting to build up the confidence to let it go. He’s normally unconcerned about removing his clothes, so he doesn’t understand what makes this so different.

Taking a deep breath, Yixing bites at his lip when he finally shrugs the robe off his shoulders so that it hangs on his elbows. His skin tingles in the cool air, heartbeat thudding loudly against his chest as he tries to keep his breathing soft and even. He lifts his gaze to gage the reaction of the Dragon Head, who is observing him carefully. He can feel those eyes on his skin, the way they press into every dip and curve of Yixing’s body, traveling across the pale expanse of his chest. They follow down to the dip of his thin waist, connecting the little moles scattered across Yixing’s pale skin.

He isn’t sure why he feels like he owes an apology for his shortcomings, the insecurities bubbling up inside of him, but the words dry up on the tip of Yixing’s tongue when Wu Fan’s heavy gaze stops him from speaking. The other man doesn’t have to say a single word to show the interest flaring in his eyes, beckoning Yixing closer without any words or movement. Yixing’s heart races rapidly as he takes a hesitant step forward, and when Wu Fan doesn’t stop him, he continues until he is standing next to the Dragon Head at the side of the bed, trembling and biting his lip. It is there that Yixing allows the robes to puddle at his feet, fully exposed before the most powerful man in the country.

He thinks he might faint.

“Is this okay?” Yixing questions, sounding a lot more frightened than he would like but still less than he actually feels, running on instinct as well as the silent instruction from the _Duizhang_. Wu Fan has been treating him well so far, with more patience than Yixing feels like he deserves, and he’s so afraid that he’ll wind up disappointing him, that what he’s offering won’t be any good. He tries to hide that fear with a smile he hopes is enticing, outwardly showing more confidence than he has.

The Dragon Head offers no reassurance with his expression, but his eyes are so dark and intense as they survey Yixing’s body that goose bumps raise on the prostitute’s flesh. “It’s fine,” is all Wu Fan says before leaning back, arms opening in a silent invitation. Yixing climbs onto the bed, straddling Wu Fan’s thighs without much thought; this much is routine, something he’s done before. It’s when he places his hands on the headboard to adjust his position that he becomes aware of just how close they are right now. He can feel the heat of Wu Fan’s body through his clothes and it makes him shiver. Yixing tries to distract himself by reaching for the heated oil pot resting on the side table, scooping a generous amount into his hand. Later he wishes that he’d thought to place his robe on Wu Fan’s lap to protect the gang leader’s clothing from any stray oils, but at the moment he’s shaking and can barely keep his thoughts straight.

Once he’s comfortable, Yixing runs a hand down the front of his chest, smearing a slick trail of oil down his hairless skin before reaching between his legs, cheeks pink. “I h-haven’t done this in a while,” he admits, heart still racing. He shouldn’t be telling this to Wu Fan but he can’t help himself, speaking more to make up for his shortcomings, trying to explain himself and seem not as inept as he actually feels. Yixing never speaks much but the Dragon Head seems to speak even less, commanding more with his expressions than his actual voice. “It’s not s-something… I do often.”

Wu Fan’s eyes flash at those words, narrowing attentively, but his intense gaze does not stray from Yixing’s face, continuing to study him closely. It makes Yixing’s skin burn, like he’s catching on fire. It’s the first time anyone has been so fixated on his expressions and it makes him self-conscious, the fiery blush that had taken permanent residence on his cheeks traveling down his neck and blooming on his chest. He imagines what he must look like, biting down hard on his lip as sweat pools on his brow and temple, eyes wet from nervousness. Yixing’s gaze is fixated on the hand wrapped around his own cock but even like this he can feel Wu Fan watching his face carefully, and it embarrasses Yixing more than he thought possible. Distracted, he barely manages to hold back the tiny gasp of surprise he lets out when he feels pleasure pooling low in his abdomen, just below his bellybutton, but it comes out as a frightened whimper instead.

“Are you okay?” the Dragon Head questions, hands lifting from where they rested on the bed to circle around Yixing’s thighs. His rough palms burn even hotter against Yixing’s heated flesh, and the prostitute trembles when he realizes just how big those hands are.

Yixing flushes a deeper shade of red at the question, and he’s sure that he resembles a cherry at this point. “I-I’m fine…” he chokes out, breathless and ashamed as he quickly stops his movements. He hides his face with his hands despite them being slick with oil, unsure of how to explain himself. Yixing’s hyper-awareness of the Dragon Head’s every moment is somehow channeling into arousal, and the realization that he’s actually getting turned on is startling. It’s the first time he’s felt this sort of pleasure and Yixing knows he should be focusing on trying to please Wu Fan, and yet here he is getting off at the taller man’s heavy gaze. “Sorry,” Yixing apologizes, eyes wet with tears; he hates himself, hates how he can never do anything right. The triad leader should have just killed him back in the lobby. “I-I know I need to t-try harder—”

Suddenly and without any warning, Wu Fan’s hands slide up the smaller man’s legs and move to wrap around Yixing’s wrists, his grip firm as he uses the leverage of his heavier body to roll them over. The prostitute bounces onto his back with a startled gasp, vision spinning for a second before he looks up straight into the eyes of the Dragon Head as he hovers over him. His nerve endings catch fire, and while he shies away from being splayed out underneath the other man so suddenly, his legs instinctively wrap around the _Duizhang’s_ hips at the same time. Yixing wants to cover his face again but Wu Fan has his wrists pinned to the bed on the opposite sides of his head, stealing away what little control Yixing had before and rendering him unable to look away from those deep, dark eyes.

“Don’t you _ever_ dare hide from me,” the Dragon Head orders, his rough voice low from the weight with which he speaks, his eyes black as night. They reflect only Yixing’s alarmed face right back at him and the escort freezes in place, breath caught in his throat as he stares with wide eyes. He can’t even think, all thoughts fleeing from his mind. The only thing he can hear is the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, deafening. The Dragon Head is completely calm, not even a single sign of emotion, but the way he speaks demands undivided attention and Yixing would be foolish not to give it to him. He almost forgets to swallow his own saliva, so fixated on Wu Fan’s unyielding expression. In fact he is so entranced, that he nearly misses what the _Duizhang_ says next. “Whenever I ask you a question, you must always respond.”

Yixing doesn’t hesitate this time, nodding rapidly as he answers. “Yes, my lord.”

“Are you afraid of me?” the _Duizhang_ inquires after a beat of silence. He’d asked this before, but back then he’d meant it more as a statement, as a matter of loyalty to the Wu Fong. Now, however, it holds a different meaning, something more personal.

The prostitute falters a moment before he answers, unsure how truthful he should be. But the way his heart is beating in his throat, he knows that he couldn’t lie about his fear to save his life. Worry claws against the inside of his chest and he licks his dry lips to combat it, finding it difficult to swallow. Still, he replies, and his voice comes out wobbly. “V-Very, my lord.”

For some reason Wu Fan finds this amusing, a small smile cracking his serious expression, although his eyes remain dark. He releases one of Yixing’s wrists and runs his hand down the prostitute’s side, setting fire to his skin just from the contact alone. Surprised by the sudden movement, Yixing’s spine arches when Wu Fan’s arm hooks underneath the curve of his back, pulling him flush against the Dragon Head’s firm body. Yixing can feel how strong he is through his clothes, and his stomach swoops dangerously. “Then would you hate it if I touched you like this?” the Dragon Head wonders, and it’s intriguing to see his playful expression paired with eyes that remain so introspective. Yixing doesn’t know how to handle the contrast, thoughts scattered now that he’s hyper aware of Wu Fan’s hand against the bare skin of his waist. Every last millimeter of him feels ignited and he’s sure that even the _Duizhang_ can feel just how hard Yixing’s blood is pulsing.

“I-I don’t… h-hate it, my l-lord,” Yixing finally answers, remembering that he needs to speak up unless he wishes to make the taller man angry.

Wu Fan’s smile widens into a smirk, eyes glinting sharply. “Good,” he says, wetting his lips. “I’m not interested in unwilling partners.” Just as unexpectedly as before, he leans in to capture Yixing’s lips with his own, and the press of his surprisingly soft mouth against Yixing’s is firm and precise. It sends a shockwave through Yixing’s veins and makes his fingers and toes curl, and he almost doesn’t notice the Dragon Head’s free hand thumbing the jut of Yixing’s hipbone before sliding back behind him to cup an ass cheek, long fingers digging into the flesh. Yixing whimpers louder than he means to, semi-hard cock stirring back to life after being neglected. He’s panting now, out of oxygen and barely able to breathe with the way the Dragon Head kisses him, fiery and full of force, scalding Yixing’s lips. When Wu Fan pulls back, Yixing is dizzy, hips twitching every time he feels the taller man’s hand squeeze tighter. Yixing can feel his gaze on him, even from this close, their lips ghosting together.

“How about like that? Did you like it?” the Dragon Head asks, and his voice is so deep now that it rumbles, making Yixing’s entire body quiver with anticipation. Yixing’s blush has returned stronger than ever, face on fire as he continues to keep his eyes clenched shut. He’s had clients take control before but this is a different kind of control, the kind that Yixing can’t even wrap his head around, can’t keep up. Yixing has been kissed before, many times, and by all kinds of people. He’s kissed with different kinds of feelings, too. The kisses he shares with customers are calculated; they don’t happen often, and sometimes they are forced upon him. Yixing has shared kisses with Lu Han, soothing ones that calm them when everything is falling apart. Kisses from the Madame are blessed and rare, full of a motherly comfort that Yixing has never felt from his real mother. But the way the Dragon Head kisses him is unlike anything he’s ever experienced, like molten lava underneath his skin. Not to mention the way Wu Fan is groping him, Yixing’s arousal hardening further between his legs.

Yixing nods rapidly in response to the _Duizhang_ ’s question, unable to form words. Wu Fan accepts it anyway, leaning in again to suck a dark mark onto Yixing’s jutting collarbone, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there and making Yixing moan. He’s losing control of himself and his inhibitions, hips grinding up and body bowing against the larger one on top of him. There is something so explicit about the way that Wu Fan touches him; distant and intimate at the same time, gentle yet rough, curious but insistent. Yixing’s lower half is throbbing by the time Wu Fan has left a trail of hickeys down to his navel, sharp teeth making the escort moan every time they graze against his skin. His eyes shoot open when he feels oil slick fingers prodding against his puckered rim, seeking entrance.

Embarrassed, Yixing pushes lightly at the Dragon Head’s shoulders, realizing that he should have prepared himself properly so that the elder wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty. “L-Let me, ah—” Yixing gasps out, squirming and unsure why Wu Fan is touching him and giving him pleasure when it really needs to be the other way around. This is going against every rule he’s ever been taught, being helpless at the hands of Wu Fan. He’s startled when he feels the probing fingers thrust inside anyway, slipping into him easily since Yixing had seen another customer just hours earlier. Tears of pleasure prick his eyes, a little tender from crying earlier, and he pushes a little more insistently at the other’s shoulders. “Y-You don’t need to—” His voice trails off when his eyes make contact with Wu Fan’s, the Dragon Head looking up at his face over the expanse of Yixing’s chest. His expression is impish in a way that makes Yixing’s mouth dry up, heart dangerously skipping another few beats—from exhilaration or terror, or perhaps even both; it’s hard to tell anymore, and at this point Yixing is too far gone.

“I normally don’t have time for this sort of thing,” the Duizhang tells him instead of replying, wetting his lips with his tongue as he continues his ministrations, “so don’t expect too much.” Even though he says it teasingly, Yixing is surprised by his words anyway—what more could he possibly expect? Wu Fan is already doing more on his own than he should have to, to the point where if Boa knew how little Yixing is doing his job, he’d probably get a beating. He doesn’t get to think on it much longer, whimpering again when Wu Fan’s teeth nip against the sweaty skin of his abdomen. The _Duizhang’s_ fingers are long and reach deep inside of him, Yixing’s thighs falling open even wider as he bites down on his fist to stifle the needy whines escaping past his lips. Wu Fan uses his free hand to pull Yixing’s away from his mouth, startling the younger out of his lustful trance.

“What did I say about hiding, Yixing?” he chides, and something about the way that he says the prostitute’s name makes Yixing lose his breath again, nodding in response. Not even a second later Wu Fan’s fingers press against a bundle of nerves inside of Yixing, stars dotting the escort’s vision as his body arches and he wails in pleasure. He can practically feel the triad leader’s satisfied smirk against the skin of his belly, but Yixing doesn’t have time to process it before three fingers are attacking his prostate and making him cry out again and again. His cock is fully hard and throbbing now, curved over his tummy and leaving a sticky trail of precum. “I don’t think I can hold back much longer,” Wu Fan suddenly mutters against Yixing’s skin, lips smacking when he pulls away from leaving a rather large hickey on the prostitute’s delicately toned stomach. “It looks like I’ll just have to postpone my prior engagements.”

Yixing whimpers when Wu Fan pulls his fingers out, trembling hips trying to follow after them futilely. He’s gasping for breath, a trembling mess of a human being as Wu Fan stands on his knees to loom over the prostitute. He’s so tall that his body blocks the overhead light, and Yixing watches in daze as the Dragon Head unbuttons his deep green shirt, revealing a well-muscled body that catches shadows perfectly from every angle. Yixing isn’t surprised in the least, but he can’t help the way his body prickles with heat all over, drool collecting in his mouth as he stares at the _Duizhang’s_ long, lean form. He can’t help but notice how his skin is covered in dancing dragons, roaring and shooting flames at each other as if in battle. The tattoos wrap along his arms, curling around his sides and onto his back, and some of it even dips below his waistband—almost like a second skin. For a moment Yixing appreciates the beauty of the intricate artwork without trepidation or contemplating the reason they exist, eyes roaming freely as he tries to take in all of the incoming information.

He’s entranced, unable to look away until the Dragon Head distracts him by opening his belt. Yixing’s eyes snap up in embarrassment, realizing how intensely he’d been staring, but Wu Fan notices, as he always does. His confident smirk, combined with those hooded black eyes looking down at Yixing, makes the escort’s cock jerk. Honestly he should have expected it, eyes going wide when Wu Fan pulls his own dick free from his unbuckled trousers, longer and thicker than Yixing’s ever seen, even in those sizable hands of his, and a flash of heat travels from his stomach to every nerve ending.

The Dragon Head scoops up more oil and slicks his hardened length thoroughly, rubbing carefully over the bulbous head and groaning deep in his chest when he does so. At the sound Yixing’s lower half throbs with anticipation, hips twitching eagerly as his fingers curl into the sheets underneath him. Wu Fan doesn’t make him wait long however, and he turns Yixing’s trembling body over to his front, pushing his legs up so Yixing’s resting on his forearms, ass on display. “It’ll be easier this way,” the _Duizhang_ explains, almost apologetically so, yet still with an air of confidence. “Maybe when you’re more used to me we can try a different position.”

Just the thought of the Dragon Head actually wanting to return and bed him again makes Yixing harden even more, blood rushing down to his cock and body fluctuating hot and cold at the same time. Without much more preamble, the swollen head of Wu Fan’s cock presses intrusively against Yixing’s fluttering hole, the breath knocking out of his lungs at the painful stretch despite Wu Fan having had three fingers inside of him just seconds ago. Tears streak down his cheeks as the Dragon Head’s cock continues to push inside of him, and he chokes a little when he forgets to swallow his saliva, a soft whine escaping his lips. Wu Fan’s cock is thicker in the middle and Yixing has to bite down on his lip to keep from screaming, little tingles of pleasure tangling with the stinging pain of being stretched so impossibly wide.

“You’re doing so well,” Wu Fan rumbles against Yixing’s concave spine, voice gone rough and sounding strained as he continues. His large hand is supporting Yixing watchfully at the base of the prostitute’s back, but it’s shaking slightly and Yixing can feel it. It’s the first time Yixing has heard him sound so affected and he has an intense desire to look at his face, to see what those brows would look like furrowed in concentration, how those charcoal eyes darken further with want, and the thought makes his softening cock harden again. He sobs when Wu Fan is finally buried completely inside of him, now stuffed full, and the pressure of the elder’s cock pushing so solidly against his walls makes Yixing drool a little.

The Dragon Head is breathing heavily against Yixing’s back now, large hands still slick from oil sliding over Yixing’s skin and circling his waist to hold him steady. One hand reaches down and curls tightly around the base of Yixing’s dick, tugging his leaking member back to full hardness. Yixing’s hips stutter in surprise over being taken care of, and he cries out when Wu Fan’s length somehow manages to slide in even deeper, making him clench around him. The taller man groans in response, biting into the skin of Yixing’s back as he squeezes his long fingers around Yixing’s dick. The prostitute’s cock drools thick drops of precum onto the sheets, sensitive all over as Yixing half-sobs, half-moans when Wu Fan continues to pump him. He wants to beg the taller to move but he can’t, barely able to breathe as it is, so instead he starts rocking back and forth, feeling the slick slide against his ridges, the delicious friction making him keen.

The _Duizhang_ gets the hint and grabs Yixing’s waist with both hands again, holding him tightly in place before thrusting shallowly. Yixing’s eyes roll back and he cries out, arms giving away almost immediately and his face falls into the mattress. His knees slide further apart as Wu Fan’s thrusts grow longer and longer in stride, the elder’s thumbs parting his cheeks to get better access and slide all the way in and out, until only the head of his cock holds him open before driving in powerfully. He sets a brutal pace and Yixing is out of his mind, barely breathing as intense pleasure coils tighter and tighter in his abdomen, unable to tell up from down.

Wu Fan’s cock is thick enough that he’s always pressing against his prostate, every movement pure ecstasy, and before he knows it Yixing is cumming hard all over the sheets, his first proper orgasm taking him violently because of how tense his entire body is. He falls apart, gasping for air as his body flattens against the bed almost completely. He hears Wu Fan chuckle breathlessly over him, forever amused as he curls his fingers into the sweat-matted hair at the back of Yixing’s head and continues to piston in and out of the smaller man. Yixing watches him with blurry-eyes from his peripheral vision, cheek pressing into the blankets, blinking slowly as he tries to return to himself.

The elder’s hips stutter after a little while longer, Yixing’s body going along with him like a ragdoll, and he cums inside of the escort. The feeling of being filled up sends a wave of heat through Yixing’s body, cock twitching almost pathetically, too spent despite his over stimulated nerves saying otherwise. He shudders when Wu Fan pulls out, his gaping entrance feeling barren all of a sudden when he clenches around nothing. Some of the seed oozes out of him and trickles down his thigh, making his already flushed body redden in embarrassment, but Yifan is already lifting Yixing up from the bed and making more cum dribble out. Yixing squeaks in surprise, reaching underneath him to stop from spilling further and staining the plush, expensive carpet, and he’s so distracted by it that he doesn’t register at first that he’s being carried to the bathroom.

“W-Why…?” Yixing wonders aloud, stuttering when Wu Fan sets him down on the edge of the porcelain bathtub. The Dragon Head grins this time, a full and proper one, and his eyes are mischievous in that way that sweeps Yixing off his feet, heart palpitating. He watches in a mixture of apprehension and genuine bewilderment as the leader turns the faucet and begins filling the tub.

“Like I said, I’m a busy man,” Wu Fan begins, and Yixing blushes, startled when the elder takes off his pants despite what they were doing just minutes ago. “So it’d be a shame to not enjoy ourselves now while we still can, right?” He stands straight in all his glory, covered in dragons and yet there is something almost teasing about the way he’s smiling. Yixing can’t keep up—he’s never before seen someone with so many genuine facets of personality, how one second he can go from utterly terrifying to someone who constantly catches Yixing off guard by his almost self-indulgent behavior. Yixing cracks a small smile, swept up in the moment and in his confusion, and Wu Fan’s eyes glint fascinatedly. “You only have one dimple,” he mentions, sounding surprised.

Yixing’s cheeks redden and he covers them with his hands, dropping his gaze. “I-It’s strange, I know…” he mumbles, self-conscious of his defect and trying to find words to explain himself. He doesn’t get a chance however because the Dragon Head is suddenly so close to him, startling Yixing to the point where he falls backwards into the large tub, now full of hot water, yelping when he splashes in. The taller man joins him immediately, chuckling as he pulls Yixing onto his lap.

“Enough talking,” he says, and his grin morphs back into that confident smirk of his, Yixing’s insides igniting. He flinches when he feels large hands kneading his ass, long fingers sliding inwards and prodding against his tender entrance, the mixture of pain and pleasure making him whimper. Their faces are so close now compared to before, Yixing unsure what to do with his hands before he hesitantly rests them on Wu Fan’s endlessly broad shoulders, glancing at the elder to gauge his reaction. Immediately Yixing is enraptured, unable to look away from the Dragon Head’s impish dark eyes, making him feel like he’s melting into them.

“W-What are we d-doing now?” Yixing asks even though all the blood in his body is rapidly rushing to his cock in anticipation, making him almost dizzy in combination with the hot bath.

The Dragon Head’s smirk grows, his thick fingers slipping easily into Yixing and making him keen. “I need to know what your face looks like when it’s moaning my name.”

Yixing is sure his heart will beat right out of his chest.

 

x x x

 

Yixing wakes up suddenly, sitting up in bed with his eyes wide open as he tries to process what happened. His body feels heavy and his waist aches something terrible, but he surveys his surroundings anyway, trying to figure out where he is. His stomach drops with horror when he realizes that he is sleeping in the Dragon Room, and with a glance at the large mechanical clock hanging over the fireplace he learns that it’s already half past ten in the morning. Panic churns in Yixing’s gut as he scrambles out of bed, realizing that he is over four hours late to his duties and knowing that he will get punished horribly for oversleeping like this. His mood is remarkably good however, pleased that the Dragon Head didn’t seem to hate what transpired between them before he left, and that Yixing is still very much alive.

Still, he is aware that now is not the right moment to waste any more time, so he runs to the double doors of the room before realizing his sandals are nowhere to be found. He debates searching the room for only a moment before he forgoes them and yanks the doors open anyway. There is no one else in the North Wing, which is nothing new and he thinks nothing of it as he stumbles down the passageway, barefoot. He’s still properly trying to adjust the cotton robes that he wore last night, the same ones he passed out in after he’d gotten out of the bath. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in that room, but what’s done is done, and now he makes sure his sash is tight, trying to look presentable despite waking up only minutes ago. He can’t help his obvious limp from last night’s happenings however; it’s something Yixing still can’t even wrap his head around, the sharp pain traveling up his spine serving as a reminder and making his face redden.

He decides to take a quick peek into the Dawn Room, if only to greet Lu Han for a second as he doesn’t really have much time, but he is surprised to find that the courtesan is not there. It comes as a shock because Yixing was sure Lu Han wouldn’t be allowed outside of the North Wing for several weeks after what happened last night, and with brows furrowed in confusion, he closes the door and continues on his way. Yixing hurries down the center stairs of the brothel towards the communal building, rushing by servants and prostitutes alike. At first he doesn’t take notice of the curious stares trailing after him, solely focused on getting to the overseer’s office and apologizing to her for his tardiness, hoping not to get a beating.

The open corridors of the garden are still slick with rainwater, something Yixing only realizes belatedly in his rush, and when he tries to slow down he skids instead. He slams into another person, being as clumsy as he is, and the two of them go toppling onto the ground. An apology on his lips, he clambers back onto his feet and is surprised to see that it’s Nuying, a bruise the shape of a hand around her slender neck. She looks horrible, bags under her eyes as if she didn’t get a wink of sleep, and despite everything she’s ever said or done to him, Yixing feels sorry for her. He’s about to speak and say at least _something_ to her, however when Nuying realizes it’s him she looks absolutely terrified, trembling as she jumps up and skitters off in the opposite direction. Stunned by her reaction, Yixing looks at her retreating back confusedly. He’s only been outside for a few minutes and yet everything seems off to him, from waking up late and Lu Han not being in his room, to Nuying running away like he’d burned her.

As he stares after her, trying to figure out why she ran, the Madame makes an appearance from the hospital wing, just a few meters down the long corridor. With eyes like a hawk, she spots him immediately and beckons him with a wave of her hand. Startled at being singled out, Yixing walks quickly towards her, suddenly conscious of everyone staring at him and whispering. He realizes how curious everyone must be after last night’s events and thinks that he’s going to have a tough time doing his daily chores with people watching his every move. He hopes that they’ll forget the incident ever happened in a few weeks, if not days, but he knows he’s being too expectant; it’s not everyday the Dragon Head makes an appearance at the brothel, let alone sleeps with one of the prostitutes.

“Yixing!” Boa exclaims when he’s near, and she looks very upset. Yixing’s stomach drops when he realizes that she must know that he woke up inexcusably late if she’d been looking for him; he hates disappointing her, and he chews on his lower lip, ready to apologize again as he bows to her respectfully. He doesn’t get a chance to get a word out however before she smacks the back of his head before he stands up straight again, reprimanding him. “What are you doing down here? Courtesan’s are to remain in the North Wing at all times unless accompanied by servants or a guard, _especially_ you. What would the Dragon Head say if he knew you were running amuck without someone protecting you? Are you trying to make him angry with me?”

Bewildered, Yixing gapes back at her. He didn’t really understand everything she said but he at least got the gist of it, something about not being allowed out of the North Wing and making the Dragon Head angry. When he continues to look at her in confusion, the Madame sighs heavily before signaling at one of the maidservants to come up. Yixing recognizes her as the same one who’d escorted him to the Dragon Room last night and she offers him a kind smile. Boa says something to her in Korean that Yixing doesn’t manage to catch this time, but he doesn’t need to because she turns to him instead, bowing in greeting; Yixing bows back, startled by her sudden formality.

“I’m Ilwoon,” she introduces herself, speaking in Mandarin which makes Yixing’s shoulders sag a little with relief. “I’m to accompany you from now on. I’ll explain everything to you, but you probably wanted to come see Lu Han, didn’t you? We can go to him first.”

Still confused, he follows after her. What does she mean by going to see Lu Han? Where is Lu Han anyway? As they head into the hospital wing instead of heading back to the North Wing, Yixing gets a bad feeling—Lu Han should have been taken to his room last night, so why is he here again? Yixing has many questions but he doesn’t voice any of them, instead allowing the servant to lead him into the same room Lu Han had been in last night. Yixing sees Lu Han passed out on the cot and something about the way his chest is heaving terrifies the escort. He makes to run towards him but the angry looking Talon that was ordered to take Lu Han to the doctor stops him. He says something but Yixing doesn’t understand what exactly, but he catches Lu Han’s name and something about the North Wing.

“Lu Han has a fever, so it’d be best not to disturb him,” Ilwoon supplies, touching the escort’s shoulder to get his attention. “He collapsed earlier in the North Wing, so this guard had to bring him here. He apologizes for not protecting you in your room like he was supposed to and that he’ll return with you.”

“My… room?” Yixing wonders, even more confused. Why would they call the _Duizhang’s_ room his room instead? Ilwoon stares back at him for a moment, as if processing his words, before she smiles again.

“You have no idea, do you?” she asks with an astounded laugh. “The Dragon Head has decided to reserve you for himself. You are to service only him and no one else from now on, and you will stay in the Dragon Room. I’m sure you took notice of your belongings set up everywhere, right?” Yixing hadn’t, since he’d been in a rush, and he shakes his head in response; it’s not like he would have noticed anyway, since he doesn’t own very much, and Ilwoon just laughs again. “Well, I’m sure you can look at them later.” She glances at his robes for a second before looking up again. “Then I guess you didn’t notice the _hanfu_ laid out on the couch for you either? It is a gift, from the Dragon Head. He wanted you to wear it when you woke.”

All this incoming information is almost too much for Yixing to process, still in disbelief over the newly acquired knowledge that Wu Fan reserved him. The Dragon Head _owned_ him now. He’d purchased all of Yixing’s time permanently, and although he couldn’t have been worth much seeing that he used to be a low-tier escort, it is still hard for Yixing to wrap his head around. From the corner of his eye he catches sight of Lu Han struggling to sit up in bed, and before anyone can stop him, Yixing rushes to the courtesan’s side, everything else completely forgotten and replaced by concern instead.

“Lu ge,” Yixing calls out, grabbing the elder’s hand in his as he watches him worriedly. “You shouldn’t move.”

The courtesan shakes his head, eyes clenching in pain as he continues to struggle, but then suddenly the Talon comes and forces him to lie back down. “Lay down,” he tells him angrily. “You’re sick.”

“I need to talk to Yixing,” Lu Han coughs out in protest, breathing heavily. He’s sweating profusely, long hair sticking to his skin. Close up, Yixing notices that his chest is covered in bite marks and bruises, which is strange because they weren’t there when Yixing saw him last night.

“I’m right here, ge,” Yixing says instead of thinking about it more, using his fingers to move Lu Han’s hair out of his face and away from his neck. His skin is burning hot, and even just by touching Yixing can tell the courtesan has gotten very sick. Lu Han blinks slowly back up at him, turning his head so their eyes can meet. His hand tightens in Yixing’s grip, and although weak, Yixing can feel how hard he’s trying to hold it. Lu Han’s entire body is shaking and tears spill down his cheeks.

“You won’t leave me here, right?” he whispers softly in Mandarin, reaching out with his other hand to cup Yixing’s cheek. “You promised.”

Surprised that the courtesan would even think something like that, Yixing is taken aback. “Of course not, Lu,” he assures quickly, mouth pulling into a frown. “We’re going to be together forever, just like we promised. Who told you I was leaving?”

Lu Han doesn’t answer, just heaves a long sigh of relief. His entire body relaxes completely, the furrow in his brows lifting as his shaking stops. His grip on Yixing is still weak, but remains as tight as he can manage. Not even a minute later Lu Han is fast asleep again, breaths still coming out in fast huffs and skin still too hot, but he already looks a million times better.

“He upset himself into a fever,” Dr. Do suddenly says, appearing in the doorway. “He must have been really stressed out.” He glares pointedly at the Talon, who doesn’t say anything in response, but suddenly Yixing understands why Lu Han is all bruised up. He wants to scowl at the Talon but he’s too afraid of the man’s cruel gaze, and especially his frightening scar, so he just turns to look back at Lu Han instead. Yixing swallows thickly when he suddenly remembers that he is a reserved courtesan now, and although it didn’t happen exactly as planned, it is part of what the two of them wanted to happen for a long time now.

“Yixing?” Ilwoon’s voice breaks into Yixing’s thoughts, and he glances back again to look at her. “Dr. Do just wants us all to leave.”

Yixing hadn’t even heard the doctor speak but he nods in acknowledgement anyways, reluctantly letting go of Lu Han’s hand. He glances at the Talon and wonders if he is going to follow them outside, and he does. The guard notices him looking and bows slightly before speaking. “My name is Xiumin. The _Duizhang_ ordered me to be your guard here, so I will be shadowing you from now on.” He says in Mandarin this time, catching on that Yixing has trouble understanding Korean, and although he has an accent, he is still understandable. Yixing returns the bow, unable to properly look at Xiumin because of his intimidating face. He’s still in disbelief over the whole ordeal—the Dragon Head actually reserved him? It simply can’t be, not when there are better and more beautiful escorts available, but this is his new reality and Yixing wonders what that will entail for him from now on. Perhaps when he sees Wu Fan again it’ll really sink in, but for now he’ll just go along with it.

“Shall we head to your room so you can get dressed?” Ilwoon asks, smiling at him. Yixing decides that he likes her, and smiles back.

“Okay.”


	7. Part Six: Before Dawn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 5,869

When Lu Han wakes, he has no idea what time it is. He sluggishly blinks open his tired, bleary eyes at the sound of hushed voices arguing just outside of his hospital room, turning his head towards the doorway as he catches the end of the conversation.

“We should have told the Madame when she was here. I don’t know why I listened to you.”

“Staying silent was the right choice, doc. We shouldn’t meddle in someone else’s business.”

“You saw the bruises, didn’t you Baekhyun? It looked like an animal attacked him! I’m more surprised by the fact that _you_ of all people don’t want to get involved.”

“I saw the way hyung looks at him! I think that’s enough information as it is.”

“And what would someone like you know about that?”

There is a tense pause after the doctor speaks, but what’s more surprising it that there is no reply; in his concentration on the conversation, Lu Han doesn’t notice the urge to cough build up in his chest before he suddenly does, entire body heaving as it violently travels through him, just loud enough to be heard. When he calms, Lu Han thinks he hears the sound of Baekhyun’s sandals clacking on the tile as he stomps away, but he’s too exhausted to think about it deeply, head feeling too heavy for his body even though he’s lying down. Despite his breaths seeming too hot for his lungs and the cast iron heating stove in the far side of the room, he’s freezing. His goose bumps rub against the cotton of his robes, making his oversensitive skin ache, and his wound throbs something terrible. Lu Han’s breathing is just on the wrong side of painful, each lungful of air like a sharp jab in his side.

Not too long after Lu Han revealed his consciousness by coughing, the doctor enters the room, sighing regretfully with his brows furrowed. He seems lost in thought for a few more seconds before he focuses his attention on Lu Han, smiling even though it doesn’t quite reach his large eyes. “Water?” the doctor offers kindly, reaching for the glass on the table, and Lu Han barely has enough energy to nod. Dr. Do gently helps him sit up slightly before bringing the cool glass to the courtesan’s dry lips, and Lu Han welcomes the sensation of the soothing liquid traveling down his inflamed throat.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt something,” Lu Han wheezes, feeling the constriction in his breathing even more now that the water has made him more alert. “It sounded serious.”

“We were speaking about you,” the doctor admits, running his fingers back through his thick black hair. His smile is gone now, as if he couldn’t bear to pretend it was real any longer. “And in my anger I may have said something that overstepped my boundaries, but the point is that I’m worried about you. About… this.” He gestures to Lu Han’s neck and chest where it is slightly exposed from under his blankets. Lu Han flushes with embarrassment when he realizes he was mentioning the marks Xiumin left all over him, weakly pulling up the covers even though it is pointless—the doctor probably already saw everything. “It wasn’t just distress you collapsed with, it was also exhaustion. Your body is weak right now, Lu Han. That means it’s more susceptible to getting sick and you can’t afford to stress yourself out again, and if that Talon member is making this worse then—”

“I gave him permission,” Lu Han defends, biting into his lower lip as he looks back pleadingly at Kyungsoo. “I know it looks bad, but I was the one who seduced him.”

The doctor just continues to stare back at him, large eyes examining him carefully before shaking his head with another sigh. “Baekhyun just barely stopped me from reporting it to the Madame when she came by earlier. The intention of those marks is clear to whoever sees them. They were meant to harm you.”

Lu Han wants to argue otherwise, recalling the almost possessive grip Xiumin had on his thighs, something like jealousy burning in his eye, but at the same time remembering the Talon’s biting words, the roughness with which he handled him, and it makes him hold his tongue. Though he knows that Dr. Do is only trying to look out for him, what Lu Han chooses to get involved in is no one’s business but his, even if it hurts him. The doctor is the last person Lu Han wants to divulge his life’s happenings to, especially his personal relationships, and he almost regrets his next words before he decides that they are for the best. “Doctor, I think you should worry more about what you said to Baekhyun than about what I’m doing in my free time.”

The doctor looks stunned for a second, lips parting in incredulity when he meets Lu Han’s solemn gaze, before his shoulders sag in resignation and he shakes his head once again. “I hope you know what you’re doing then. I don’t want your hospital visits to become a regular occurrence, Lu Han,” Kyungsoo finally fires back, looking at Lu Han imploringly for a few long seconds that seem like they will stretch on forever if he wanted them to. Despite this, the silence doesn’t last and the doctor sets down the glass on the side table again before straightening up his back and giving the courtesan one final glance. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go apologize.”

Lu Han watches Dr. Do’s retreating back disappear out the doorway before sagging back into the bed, his tired body aching from strain and uneasiness. As he stares up at the white ceiling, the only sound besides the ticking mechanical clock overhead is his beating heart, reminding him with each pulse that he is alive. The doctor’s words haunt him even as sleep forces his burning eyes to close because with the way everything seems to be spiraling out of Lu Han’s control lately, he hardly feels like he knows what he’s doing anymore.

 

x x x

 

Lu Han’s health stabilizes after several agonizing days of lying alone in his hospital room; Yixing cannot visit him because courtesans are not allowed to leave the North Wing and Xiumin is especially good at making sure it stays that way—at least, that’s what Ilwoon tells him whenever she drops by once a day to relay Yixing’s attempts at escape. Dr. Do also doesn’t allow others to come into the hospital wing either, often grumbling under his breath about how Lu Han is sick and hurt, and that the fact that he is weak right now is not a show for everyone to see. To top it all off, Baekhyun’s mood is still low because of what the doctor said to him the other day and he hardly talks anymore, pointedly ignoring the poor doctor whenever they’re in the same area; Lu Han hopes for his sanity’s sake that they make up soon because he’s starting to feel like the walls are closing in around him the longer he stays in the hospital room in silence.

El Dorado is still going through the aftershocks of the Dragon Head’s visit, guests and workers alike on their toes, as if a revisit from the underground king is immanent. It isn’t, as only a few people know; Lu Han learned through Ilwoon from Boa that Wu Fan returned to China for a triad congress and won’t return for a month, and it makes the courtesan wonder how Yixing is faring in his room without meeting anyone. He imagines that it would be completely different from how Yixing lived his life before, and the sudden solitude must be jarring.

Ilwoon also told Lu Han how Wu Fan sent instructors to teach Yixing how to read and write, which is something that Yixing never really got a chance to learn. In the years they’ve known each other, tutoring Yixing in their free time has always been Lu Han’s favorite thing to do, and he feels at a loss knowing that now Yixing will have _real_ teachers to help him everyday instead of a couple times a month from someone who doesn’t even know how to write in his mother tongue. Despite knowing that this is good for Yixing, he can’t help but feel like the longer he remains in the hospital wing, the smaller and smaller he becomes to his friend. The loneliness that feeling brings is nearly crippling, and Lu Han’s heart squeezes with apprehension again even though Yixing promised to never leave him.

The one thing that Lu Han does look forward to is late at night, when his fitful sleep is disturbed by quiet footsteps down the corridor, and he carefully cracks open one eye to find Xiumin hovering by the door and observing him silently for a few minutes. It’s a brief nightly occurrence but it’s one that makes Lu Han’s chest feel too tight to hold himself together, heart slamming against his ribcage until he forces himself to fall back into slumber. His irregular sleep schedule from the fever also keeps nightmares from having a chance to fully form, and Lu Han finds random stages of awareness in between the pitch blackness of oblivion. Knowing that Yixing will be staying close by once he leaves the hospital also helps calm him significantly, and no longer stressing about the possibility of being left behind improves Lu Han’s health faster than usual.

The fear of being abandoned hasn’t always been something Lu Han worried about. For as long as he can remember he’s at least always had his mother, Zishan, watching over him, even if only from afar. Zishan was only sixteen when she gave birth to him, and despite how svelte and fragile she appeared, she was resilient in every sense of the word. Lu Han still has many memories with her, mostly her lullabies and stories of her hometown, whispered tales she’d tell him with his head on her lap as she brushed his hair. She never wanted him to cut it because it made him look exactly like her, right down to the crinkles in the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Lu Han didn’t get to see her very often after he turned three, up until the new Madame came five years later, but he’d always hide in her room until he was dragged away again by his supervisors.

She never did tell him how she was kidnapped, why she ended up in run down brothel in Korea despite not speaking a word of the language, or even anything about her convoluted relationship with Lu Han’s father, El Dorado’s original Monsieur. Lu Han only learned about the rape through the constant gossip channeling through the brothel on a daily basis, even if he didn’t really know what it meant at the time. It was hard to keep secrets when there were eyes everywhere, but it didn’t stop Lu Han’s father from pretending his son didn’t exist. Lu Han didn’t mind being ignored—he feared that man more than god, the way he’d watch Lu Han with revulsion in his eyes. He is the monster that plagues Lu Han’s sleep even to this day, a dark shadow that follows his every step. The Monsieur always stood out no matter what he did, a European foreigner who’d come to own a huge chunk of land in the middle of the red light district in Seoul. The three buildings had always been there, said to have once been simply a grand hotel, before they turned into the heart of immorality.

In the years following Lu Han’s birth, his disconcerting father became more volatile, notorious for sudden bursts of rage until it seemed like he was just always angry. Much of his hatred was directed to the slaves and prostitutes, which in turn was why many of them took it back out on Lu Han instead. His hazel eyes have always made it glaringly obvious just who his father was, even if he looked exactly like his mother, and a lot of that cruelty almost killed him. It wasn’t even that they’d beat him, it was more of a calculated form of neglect, from ‘forgetting’ to feed him to locking him in a wardrobe for hours on end when they were punishing him for existing. He’s always had sympathizers, however; after all he was only a child, not even eight yet his ribs stuck out obviously from under his skin, a look of fear engraved in his eyes. Somehow or another he was just barely brought back from the tight hold death had on him since the day he was born, his saviors few and far in between.

The mistreatment scarred Lu Han like no other, survival instincts that danced dangerously on the line of unwholesome the older he got driving him to do whatever he could to survive. After the Madame came and sent many of the slaves and prostitutes back to the Monsieur, Lu Han was no longer victimized. Anyone under sixteen was also returned to Lu Han’s father at his manor in Goyang. Lu Han was simply downgraded to a slave due to his young age, only allowed to stay at the El Dorado because Zishan continued to live there, but it was in that time that he was the happiest. Eight years later she died of an unknown disease, rapidly losing weight and coughing up blood in a sickbed for the last year of her relatively short life. It was then that Lu Han realized just how alone he was—only fifteen and living the life of a slave in the very brothel he had been raised in, knowing nothing of the outside world. The loneliness was unbearable for someone who’d been so attached to his mother; she was everything he knew, but also the only thing.

What he didn’t know was that the loss of his mother didn’t only affect him; it affected the El Dorado just as much. There was a sudden decline in customers as El Dorado had nothing going for itself at the time, a run down brothel with no one but the resident flower to its name—Yang Zishan, the most beautiful and elegant courtesan in the district. Without her, El Dorado had nothing. It seemed almost like fate that when Lu Han needed the hole in his life to be filled by another mother figure, Boa became that person. She was twenty-six at the time, only recently having taken over the brothel, and was in a state of crisis after the harrowing loss of their most prized courtesan. She would never have suggested Lu Han to take his mother’s place if he hadn’t looked exactly like Zishan, right down to the way he attracted admirers to him like moths to a flame. It was Boa who, in her desperation, gave the fifteen-year-old an ultimatum: that he train to become a courtesan unless he wanted to be thrown onto the streets for having no other use; after all, if he wanted to remain taken care of, he needed to give something back. Nothing in their world came for free, even feeling safe.

Lu Han’s agreement to this proposition changed his entire life. He didn’t really understand the consequences of his choice, as he was still so young. It did, however, plant a dark seed deep inside of him; he was allowed to stay at El Dorado only because he was beautiful. He was beautiful and people wanted to pay to be with him, wanted to touch him and fawn over him, and if he refused he would be abandoned like trash. If he wanted people to love him, if he didn’t want to be alone, if he didn’t want to die, he had to give every last bit of himself because otherwise, what else _did_ he have to give? He had nothing. He _was_ nothing.

Before Yixing, Lu Han never even considered escaping because he truly didn't think he had any reason to. By being a courtesan he was being useful to Boa and not taking up space. When people came to him they only ever wanted one thing, so in order to not be alone he gave himself as collateral. He really believed that that was the only way he could be useful, and he said and did what he needed to make others happy because otherwise, why did he exist? If he wasn’t beautiful no one would care about him, and he counts his lucky stars for having at least that much. He wasn’t necessary to anyone, just a passing fancy, and he needs to make sure that the people around him will continue to want and love him.

He can’t say no.

 

x x x

 

Yixing’s eyes are sparkling as he talks animatedly with Lu Han for the first time in a long while, darting about the Dragon Room and trying to show the courtesan every last bit of it. Lu Han is still in awe of the place itself, the massive scale of it rivaling even large homes, complete with an extravagant living room, a bedroom the size of Lu Han’s entire chamber, and a long, rectangular dining area that feeds into a small library set with it’s own fireplace. All of the rooms connect by large, open arches that look into each other. The tiled white marble floors match the ones in the lobby and the vibrant wallpapers have different kinds of textile motifs from their home country, but the most prominent ones are the dragons that are almost uncannily reminiscent of Wu Fan’s tattoos. Everything inside the Dragon Room seems to be lined with gold and gemstones, if not encrusted by them completely, and is genuinely expensive rather than cheap like the imitations El Dorado gets away with in areas that are not as important.

It’s the first time Lu Han has ever been inside as no one is normally allowed in unless to clean the room. Even though he knows that Yixing has memorized the place like the back of his hand since long before he started living there, the younger man appears enthusiastic. Rather than being excited by the room itself, Yixing is much more excited to finally show it to Lu Han. He asks him to read the titles of the books or explain the maps and paintings on the walls, glancing back at Lu Han every few seconds to double check that he’s not being annoying by speaking too much. He hasn’t let go of Lu Han’s hand once since the escort first burst into Lu Han’s room further down the North Wing, asking how he was feeling and wondering if he wanted to come see his new room.

Only a few hours have passed since Lu Han was helped back to his room that afternoon; Yixing had already paid him a visit then, letting Lu Han sleep off the exhaustion of walking all the way back before returning to his side. Even though Lu Han’s wound still stings from the strain of climbing up the stairs, he could not bear to refuse the younger when Yixing only ever asks so little of him. Lu Han’s heart feels full knowing how badly his friend wanted to share this new fortune with him, so he allows himself to be dragged out of his room after taking painkillers and his medicine.

In the few days they were apart Yixing seems to have finally put on some weight, mostly due to the fact that he is being forced to eat three full meals a day, apparently an order from Wu Fan himself for which Lu Han is eternally grateful, knowing how his friend used to go a day or two without eating under the explanation of not being hungry. On the other hand, Lu Han lost nearly a quarter of his body weight in between losing blood and being bedridden, needing to tie the sashes of his robes even tighter than he’s used to because of how much he’s slimmed down. Extraordinarily enough, like this, he looks more like his mother than ever, and he catches himself staring sorrowfully at his reflection more times than he dares to say. He ties his hair loosely with the ribbons she left behind and it’s hard to tell the difference at that point, as if when he opens his mouth to speak the sound of her voice will come out of him instead. He doesn’t know why he misses her even more these days; perhaps it’s the sudden loneliness he was forced to face after being apart from his only friend. He doesn’t linger on that thought now that he is reunited with Yixing, but he can’t seem to chase away the strange feeling in his gut that everything seems to be happening too fast for him to keep up.

When Yixing had pulled Lu Han by the hand through the large double doors of the Dragon Room, he was blissfully unaware of how Lu Han did whatever he could to avoid eye contact with the Talon member standing guard outside of it. The courtesan doesn’t know why he felt so timid all of a sudden, warmth prickling his neck as soon as he noticed Xiumin’s heavy gaze on them from all the way down the hall. When Lu Han passed him on their way inside, the other man didn’t even spare a single glance his way even though the courtesan knows for certain that he was being observed. Lu Han wants to ask why Xiumin visited him in the hospital every night after Lu Han was supposed to be asleep, wondering if the Talon felt guilty or if he was just curious; Lu Han dislikes having hope that maybe Xiumin doesn’t hate him as much as he claims to, but it’s hard when the Talon seems so hell-bent on making sure Lu Han won’t think any more of their relationship. It doesn’t help that Lu Han still can’t tell what Xiumin’s nightly observation on him even meant in the first place, his default expression so agonizingly unreadable both in day and night that it makes the courtesan feel like he’s slowly losing his mind.

Lu Han tries to forget about it as Yixing pulls out several expensive _hanfu_ from his wardrobe, laughing at the younger’s expression when Yixing explains how Wu Fan sends him a new one from China every day for him to wear. Yixing looks genuinely befuddled at receiving these daily gifts, unused to being taken care of like this, but secretly Lu Han doesn’t get why the Dragon Head is going to this extent either. Deep inside, he’s afraid that Wu Fan will continue to tempt Yixing with gifts until the younger is completely out of Lu Han’s reach. Lu Han has nothing to offer Yixing except what he always has had; he could sneak food from his own plate, he could dress Yixing in his robes for a night, he could have sex with him that is by choice rather than obligation, but he is nowhere near the amount of what the Dragon Head can offer. Lu Han’s absolute best isn’t even close to the Dragon Head’s worst and Lu Han can feel himself dwindling away at the thought of losing Yixing. No amount of assurances could convince him that Yixing would ever choose Lu Han over someone like the _Duizhang._ If Yixing leaves, there will be no one who loves him; he’ll be right back to how life used to be before Yixing, before Lu Han had someone who needed him, when Lu Han was just going through routine life like the doll everyone always sees him as. He doesn’t know if he could handle that kind of emptiness again, the weight of nothing so heavy that Lu Han feels like he’s being crushed by it.

Lu Han doesn’t realize that his cheeks are wet from crying until Yixing is already wrapping his arms around him tightly, asking him in shock what is wrong. The elder can’t even bring himself to answer, throat so painfully tight that even his breathing comes out ragged. When he feels Yixing’s own tears dripping onto the crown of his head, it becomes Lu Han’s undoing, sobbing hard into the younger’s chest. Yixing cups Lu Han’s face in his hands and pulls back so that they can look at each other, his tearful eyes searching for answers Lu Han won’t say. He can’t bring himself to beg Yixing to stay anymore, humiliated by his own limitations as it is, and knowing his selfish wishes would never allow Yixing to be happy. Lu Han shouldn’t keep manipulating Yixing to stay any longer when the younger would be better off as far away from him as possible. He cries hard even though he knows this, the shameful request on his tongue clawing to get out; Yixing presses his lips coaxingly against Lu Han’s, as if he could drink the words out of him this way, but Lu Han lets them die in his mouth. The familiar taste of Yixing is just as comforting as it is so, _so_ unbearably agonizing. It hurts more than the bullet wound, more than the death of his mother, more than his hatred for himself. Still, Lu Han clings to Yixing tighter than before and prays to whoever is tormenting to allow him to have this painful happiness, even if it’s temporary.

He should have known from the start; nothing good that happens to him ever lasts.

 

x x x

 

Even though normally the two of them would share comfort in each other’s bodies, Lu Han knows that Yixing is not allowed to have sex with anyone else anymore. It leaves him feeling empty as sex is the only thing Lu Han really has, the only desirable part of himself that he can give to anyone who wants it, but he thinks bitterly that it’s for the best. He doesn’t want Yixing to get in trouble for Lu Han’s weaknesses anyway, so they just lay together in bed until the younger is fast asleep. The moon is full and almost blindingly bright as it shines in the sky, bathing the room in pale white. Not wanting it to disturb Yixing’s sleep, Lu Han struggles onto his feet and over to the window, drawing the thick, expensive curtains closed. Immediately the room falls into pitch-black darkness and the ache in Lu Han’s heart intensifies, the burning of it too much for him to feel any other emotion other than sadness. Sleep is a distant memory since he knows that he’ll only have nightmares if he tries to rest his eyes now. The only time he doesn’t have nightmares is when he’s exhausted out of his mind, but he doesn’t have anything to completely rip his concentration into shreds the way he really needs to right now. He’ll be alone with these thoughts all night with no end in sight.

When Lu Han opens the double doors of the Dragon Room, he doesn’t know what he expects to find; maybe he was feeling hopeful that Xiumin would be gone, or that he would ignore him at least because Lu Han’s soul is too weak to handle anything else tonight. But Xiumin is there of course, and where he hadn’t bothered to give Lu Han a second glance earlier, he is now looking directly at him. “You guys didn’t cross the line, did you?” he asks as soon as Lu Han closes the door, and his voice is so quiet that Lu Han almost doesn’t catch it.

Startled at being spoken to so suddenly, Lu Han takes a moment to process the question before he feels the smallest prick of irritation, knuckles turning white as he tightly squeezes the handle. He knows that he is selfish when it comes to Yixing, but he isn’t selfish enough to do something that would make Yixing fall into trouble. He doesn’t like that this is the kind of person Xiumin sees him as, but he knows that Xiumin won’t listen even if he tried to explain himself. No one ever does. “We didn’t,” Lu Han finally replies, swallowing thickly under the Talon’s watchful gaze. The long corridor is dark except for the lamplights on either side of Lu Han’s double doors, a long ways down from where the two of them are standing in the dim lighting. The third floor of the brothel has portions of the ceiling where there are large windows so the light from outside is the only thing illuminating them. In the moonlight Xiumin’s elongated scar glows like it’s giving out the light from under his skin, whereas his milky blind eye seems to absorb every last drop it—the same exact way he seems to be absorbing every last bit of Lu Han through his gaze at this very moment.

“You’ve been crying,” Xiumin states, not as a question but as an observation. He’s not moving or doing anything, strong arms still crossed over his chest in the position he always does, and the way he points out Lu Han’s swollen eyes so calmly catches him off guard again. The courtesan doesn’t know how Xiumin manages to look right through him like this, like he knows everything about Lu Han yet at the same time knows nothing at all. Lu Han feels like he’s being cut open, bleeding out as he struggles to make an excuse. It’s obvious that he hasn’t learned his lesson yet because it’s hard, so hard to resist when Xiumin glowers at Lu Han like he wants to destroy every little piece of him from the inside out; Lu Han wants it so bad, wants Xiumin to crush him so that he doesn’t feel anything else but him and only him for days.

“I have,” Lu Han finally admits, voice shaky as he bites his lip. He doesn’t feel very beautiful right now, hair a mess from lying down and robes in disarray, but he can’t help himself. Maybe Xiumin was right; maybe the only honest thing about him really is his body; maybe he should just stop pretending that he’s anything more than that; maybe the only reason no one sees him as a human being is because Lu Han doesn’t deserve to be one. So why does his chest hurt so much? Why does he feel all these terrible emotions when he’s just a doll? Why does he have to go through so much pain for the smallest of happiness? Lu Han isn’t even sure he’s tasted what it’s really like to genuinely be happy.

He misses his mother so much.

Lu Han’s knees suddenly feel too weak to stand and he tries to get a hold of himself, turning away quickly and starting to head back to his room so that Xiumin won’t see him cry again. He doesn’t know what’s come over him because he’s always been so good at pretending everything is fine to the point where he can convince others to believe it, but in the middle of the night without Yixing’s hand holding onto his tightly, Lu Han feels like he doesn’t need to dream up any nightmares when he’s been constantly living in one his whole life. Xiumin suddenly grabs onto Lu Han’s wrist to stop him and it startles the courtesan so much that he nearly screams, but the Talon’s other hand covers his mouth and muffles the sound before it can escape his lips. His skin is burning hot against Lu Han’s and the faded bruises on his body tingle, making him start to tremble. Lu Han pulls Xiumin’s hand off of his mouth almost immediately, but he doesn’t remove the one from his wrist even though he knows he should. If he stays here any longer he’ll make sure the other man follows him to bed so he can forget everything he’s feeling.

“Xiumin…?” Lu Han asks searchingly, turning around halfway so that he can look over his shoulder at the older man. Xiumin’s expression still hasn’t changed, eyes still as sharp as they were before.

“Minseok,” he finally says after a beat. “My real name is Minseok.”

Lu Han’s memory gives a jolt at the mention of that name, like being dragged back in time by the collar of his _hanfu_. The blurry image of someone carrying him to the hospital so many years ago, of a young boy breaking the wardrobe lock and saving Lu Han’s life, a teenage slave holding onto a crying Lu Han’s hand, promising to come back when he escapes the Monsieur’s manor in Goyang where he had to go because he was only fifteen and too young to stay. Lu Han’s knees feel weak for a different reason entirely now, heart thudding in his chest as he tries to process the new onslaught of information. It’s hard to imagine the kind young boy from his memories turning into the completely different person he is now, a fearsome gang member who seems to hate everyone, and yet that familiar face of his is so uncanny that Lu Han can’t believe he didn’t realize it before.

“You came back,” Lu Han breathes, brows furrowing. “But why are you telling me now? Why not before?”

Minseok shakes his head. “I came back seven years ago, Lu Han. I came back but you became the center of this place that I’ve despised with every bit of my heart. You look exactly like your mother but every time I look at you all I can remember is that you’re _his_ son and I—” his voice is shaking with anger, holding Lu Han’s wrist so tight it’s cutting off circulation. Lu Han hates seeing Minseok’s handsome face twist so much with rage, rage directed towards _him_ , and before he can stop himself Lu Han is pushing himself into Minseok’s space and crashing their mouths together in an attempt to distract him as well as satisfy his own craving. He can only hold out for so long and he’s reached his limit, moaning quietly when Minseok responds almost immediately, pushing him back so that he slams into the wall before pressing in even closer and devouring his lips. His skin is burning all over from Minseok’s strong grip, needing it all over him, inside of him, everywhere.

He wants to apologize for his existence, for being his father’s son, for being so weak and turning into something he’s not in order to survive for the sole purpose of staying alive. He’s tired of it, tired of fantasizing that everything is fine, and Lu Han is tempted to beg Minseok to break him, to debauch him until the Talon no longer hates everything about Lu Han for the same exact reasons Lu Han hates himself. Yet, as they fall into Lu Han’s bed, he hopes selfishly, morbidly, that by staying silent Minseok’s hatred will finally just end him for good.


	8. Part Seven: Shooting Stars.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 8,756

_Does this feel okay?_

Yixing’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as he stares up at the plump lips that are speaking to him, slick and rosy from kissing; he follows the bridge of that perfectly straight nose up to the Dragon Head’s penetrating charcoal eyes that stare right back down at him and examine him carefully. Yixing swallows thickly, nodding in answer because he doesn’t dare speak right now, not trusting his words to come out coherently when he can’t even think straight. His skin feels like molten lava, every last bit of him tingling and trembling from head to toe as large hands run over his body.

It’s difficult to concentrate on any one thing but the feeling of being impaled, stretched beyond anything he’s taken before, and each little shift makes a broken moan spill past his lips. He can’t seem to catch his breath, hot tears spilling down his temples from the burning pleasure in his abdomen. He whimpers when those same large hands wrap firmly around the backs of his thighs, circling them more than halfway as long fingers dig hard into the sensitive skin there. Wu Fan spreads the smaller man’s legs further apart, sliding just that much closer to Yixing’s core, and another flood of heat follows almost immediately. The intensity reaches unbearable heights, and the hot coil in his belly tightens until he’s ready to explode; it’s too much for Yixing to take, eyes clenching shut and back arching as he screams—

Yixing jolts awake just as he climaxes, shaky hips jerking upwards and into nothing. Yixing is panting heavily as he reels back into reality, staring up only at the canopy of the large four-poster bed. There is no one in between his legs but the blankets that have become entangled with his limbs, leaving behind a strange feeling of emptiness. The overhanging light in the center of the bedroom and every other light are off, all candles blown out, and not even a single stream of moonlight seeps in from between the heavy curtains. It takes him a few minutes to properly process what just happened before a heated flush blooms all over his body and reddens his face with realization. As he parts his still trembling thighs, Yixing can feel the sticky warmth of cum staining the inside of his night robes, cock sensitive and twitching against the sweat-damp clothing. As he rolls out of bed and clambers to the bathroom, he wonders if this is normal, if all of his dreams about the _Duizhang_ will end with a phantom need in between his legs and stained robes.

The first few days after the _Duizhang_ turned the brothel upside down by making an appearance, Yixing felt a mixture of liberation and anxiousness at suddenly having no responsibilities to fulfill. He’s always had something or another to fill up his days and make the monotony of them pass quickly; suddenly all he has are language classes for two hours daily and more new clothes than he can handle. He stares forlornly at all the expensive fabric in his closet, knowing that he will only ever get to wear them once because every day he is presented with a new robe. It’s such a jarring change that it’s hard to believe, and sometimes Yixing itches to get back downstairs and make himself useful. He has servants who come bathe and groom him every morning and night like he’s expecting a visit from the king; they set out enough food to feed a hundred people on the long dining table—not to mention that he’s forced to eat from this set up three times a day—while at the same time a group of slaves comes and cleans the Dragon Room like their lives depended on it, leaving before Yixing has eaten half his meal.

It’s solitary and surprisingly quiet for most of the day, especially since Lu Han is with Dr. Do and Yixing isn’t allowed to leave the North Wing to go and see him. Despite the fact that he’s always kept to himself and never spoke to anyone anyway, at least there were people around him all the time. Yixing doesn’t miss the nasty words and slurs they used to throw at him, and especially not the harassment he was subject to so often, but now Yixing truly understands how lonely Lu Han must have felt for so many years of being locked up in his room all by himself. Lu Han has semi-regular weekly visits from his patrons but even with them Lu Han is not his true self, putting on a mask to fit the needs of whatever client he is entertaining, and it’s beginning to hit Yixing just how prison-like this picturesque chamber really is. Not even after a week of living like this, Yixing starts to wish that he came by to see Lu Han more often in the past, even if sometimes it had been too difficult to find free time to do so. Now, free time is all he has, and it is torturous. If he’s being honest, Yixing sometimes doubts Wu Fan will ever return to see him, but the new _hanfu_ he receives daily from China serves as a reminder that one day the Dragon Head will return; it makes the escort feel a strange mixture of dread and anticipation bubble up inside of him at the thought.

For many years now Yixing had an almost daily routine of having sex with a customer—obviously not because he wanted to or was sexually frustrated, but because he never really had a choice. When he was a sex slave, the schedule was erratic, and several times a week he was forced to spread his legs against his will until one day he stopped caring. He lived outside of himself during those horrific three years, hardly aware of what was going on, pessimistically grateful for the ridiculous amounts of sedatives in his system that kept him barely conscious in the times he wasn’t being ‘used’ so to speak. For a long time he thought that this cycle would never end, that he would be pushed into the grinder again and again and again until he finally just turned to dust and died.

When he came to El Dorado, leashed like an animal and dragged through the front doors, he had no idea what was going on. He saw the expensive building and feared almost immediately that he was going to be sold off to some master that would eventually lash him to death, as he’d seen happen on many occasions. Sex slaves led grim half-lives, treated like less than humans but at least always good enough to be fucked more than once, but work slaves in the market were handled like absolute vermin. The older they got, the more horribly scarred and beaten they were, and Yixing has seen some in slave cycles that were barely breathing, bleeding out even as they were dragged onto the auction stage for prices so cheap that you could purchase dirt for more. People who escaped the slave market were never the same again, usually disfigured, wrathful, and distrusting. They normally joined chaotic street gangs, robbing or killing anyone in the working class and above until they were either betrayed or murdered themselves.

It’s hard to believe that that is the life Yixing could have led if Lu Han hadn’t stepped in three years ago when he was at this crossroads. Yixing used to be a work slave after all, although he never entered the slave cycles until after the Korean debtors decided he would be more useful as a sex slave and sold him as such. The last trader who used to hustle him off to customers would also sell Yixing as a work slave in cycles when it was convenient for him, and because Yixing couldn’t understand Korean he knew that he had a fifty-fifty chance before the trader got tired of him and officially traded him off as one or the other. That was the case when they stood in front of the El Dorado; they had stopped by every major establishment in the Red Light district and this brothel had been the last one, the one that Yixing had the smallest chance of getting sold into.

However, against all odds, Yixing finally found a stationary home there after seven long, grueling years. He has someone who loves him unconditionally, who cares and protects him—a friend that wants Yixing to depend on them. When Yixing tried to kill himself, he saw for the first time the excruciating loneliness so deeply embedded in Lu Han’s eyes, saw his desperate need to care for someone, to be _needed_ by someone, to have a friend, and Yixing fell into him headfirst. The both of them are still so far, far away from happiness but at least they have each other to fall back on. They lead meaningless existences without the other; Yixing continues to live so Lu Han will never feel alone ever again, and Lu Han continues to live knowing that Yixing will never leave him. It is like being caught in a horribly tangled web, trapped in an endless cycle as they fill each other up with what they don’t actually have to give, drowning in each other languidly and sweetly until the day the balance breaks.

 

x x x

 

When Lu Han returns to his room, Yixing is beside himself with eagerness, unable to sit still knowing that soon enough Lu Han will be not even a minute away. Staying in the North Wing and spending all day together has been their dream for so long that Yixing can’t really remember a time when he didn’t wish it would happen. It is hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that it came true so suddenly and without any foretelling, but he doesn’t want to overthink it and just accepts this development as it is. He almost forgets that Lu Han’s condition hasn’t improved very much since the last time he saw him, and he’s brought back to reality when he spots the elder man being escorted from the stairway of the third floor and into the North Wing.

In the time that they’ve been apart, Lu Han has lost a lot more weight than Yixing remembers, and to actually see the difference in his physique is frightening. Of course the elder is still lovely from every perspective, just with a little less softness than before, the sharper angles on his face making him appear more heartbreakingly beautiful. Lu Han’s dark hair is loosely braided over his shoulder again, like he’s been keeping it as of late, and from a distance Yixing is immediately reminded of the faded picture of Lu Han’s mother that the other keeps on his dresser. Lu Han doesn’t look well despite the smile he produces at the sight of Yixing running down the hall towards him, and when Yixing hugs him he can feel Lu Han’s straining heart still pounding too fast from climbing up the steps. But the elder is resilient, if anything, and after sleeping for a few hours he picks himself back up and allows Yixing to give him a tour of the Dragon Room like the younger has been itching to do since the first time he cleaned it three years ago.

Yixing worries more about Lu Han’s condition than he outwardly shows because he knows just how much Lu Han hates being doted on; Yixing understands how Lu Han feels like he doesn’t deserve to make anyone worry for him, putting on a rather convincing mask even when he’s aching. Lu Han is not one to show weakness easily, and you will never know just how much the elder is hurting until the very last second, when his complex eyes betray the truth from him. That’s the moment when you need to catch him because that second of vulnerability reveals everything, like it had happened when Yixing tried to kill himself. It had been by pure chance that Lu Han had been the one to find him, immediately tearing the hem of his silk _hanfu_ to bandage the younger’s bleeding wrists. Lu Han wrapped them tightly, the skin of his shaking hands crimson and dripping with blood as he held Yixing close and wept into his robe. When he pulled back, Yixing could see in his eyes clear as day how much Lu Han needed him, how afraid he’d been to lose Yixing, how angry he’d been over the fact that Yixing had tried to leave this world. But Lu Han didn’t say a single word, he didn’t need to, hot tears spilling down his cheeks as he stared into Yixing’s eyes for god knows how long. It was the first time someone cried for him, the first time Yixing felt like he _existed_ , that he was alive, and all he could think of in that moment was the feeling of Lu Han’s lips against the crown of his head after he saved him from the trader just a few weeks prior.

Even right in this very moment, alone with him in the Dragon Room, Yixing’s heart tears to pieces when Lu Han’s watery eyes meet his. Although not a word escapes the elder’s lips, Yixing knows immediately what he means. He knows it because Lu Han is shaking so hard that his fingers slip as he tries to grip the front of Yixing’s robes, his clammy hands cool to the touch even through the clothing. Yixing wants nothing more than to yell out his reassurances that he will never leave Lu Han alone even if all of the happiness in the world was on the other side of the brothel walls; the only happiness Yixing will ever need is Lu Han’s laughter and the feeling of their intertwined fingers. And yet, Yixing can’t bring himself to say the words the same way Lu Han’s own seem to be stuck under his tongue. He can’t say it because Yixing knows he’s just as powerless as Lu Han when it comes to this world, and he knows that just as quickly as this happiness has reached them, it can be taken away. They’ve lied to each other time and time again about a life outside the brothel, pretending that they would be happy even if they died here, and yet Yixing can’t find it in himself to say the words to comfort Lu Han without being utterly terrified of them turning into lies right in front of him.

The emotions Yixing feels as he presses kiss after kiss against Lu Han’s mouth are indescribable; his kisses hold reassurances he wishes were grounded in truth, they convey promises he doesn’t know if either of them have the ability to keep, and they are full of love—it’s the only thing Yixing can give even if he knows Lu Han will never accept it. Lu Han will never believe Yixing loves him because Lu Han doesn’t know what real love is, doesn’t know that it exists, that Yixing can still love him even if they don’t have sex, even if Yixing doesn’t need Lu Han’s help. Unconditional love is not a concept Lu Han comprehends, and if only he could then he wouldn’t have to feel pain anymore.

And yet.

Despite the both of them being broken parts of a whole, there will always be jagged pieces of them that will never quite fit the way they need them to.

 

x x x

 

Yixing has a lot more wet dreams of Wu Fan that week, which is different from the previous one where it was only once or twice. Even still, his sleep is fitful despite getting to spend time with Lu Han throughout the days; regrettably, Lu Han sleeps through quite a few of them, exhaustion caused by a lack of nightly rest that Yixing knows trails back to none other than the Talon that guards him. It doesn’t take long for Yixing to realize that Lu Han misses the contact between the two of them, as it was a bodily comfort that they both shared and needed, and so the elder purposely lures Xiumin into his bed instead so that Yixing will not find trouble. Either way, no matter how Lu Han plays it off, it’ll always be a game of emotions between him and Xiumin. After all, Lu Han never really does anything with only half of his heart when he does it out of his own volition, and Yixing knows just how deep the courtesan’s fascination with the Talon runs.

As a spectator, Yixing can see the averseness oozing from Xiumin’s every pore, while at the same time the other man is unable to help himself in the identical way that no one can ever resist Lu Han. Lu Han doesn’t even realize that just the way he _breathes_ is like a siren’s song; once Lu Han’s enchantment begins, it is impossible not to give in to him. Yixing can see how the courtesan uses little incitements to tempt Xiumin into bed again and again, even though it breaks Lu Han apart each time. It happens so often that Yixing is starting to believe that maybe Lu Han wants to be broken up into pieces, like he’s maiming himself in preparation for something neither of them is sure will ever really happen.

Yixing doesn’t ask though, not because he doesn’t care, but because by asking Lu Han about it, he drags the elder back into reality from the cocoon he’s started to wind around himself since the day the Dragon Head made Yixing his. Despite Yixing’s reassurances to stay by his side, the younger knows that Lu Han has trouble believing in his words. Instead, the elder tries to find comfort in Xiumin, someone who used to ease his pain so long ago. Yixing wants to help but he doesn’t know how, doesn’t know what to say to keep his best friend from withdrawing into himself, so instead he offers solace by holding onto him like nothing ever changed and hopes for the best. He can do this quite convincingly because it’s been over two weeks and Wu Fan still has yet to return to the brothel; he hasn’t sent any messages or letters or anything except for the daily gift of a new luxurious robe, as well as the tutors that continue to give him language lessons every morning for two hours on weekdays.

If Yixing is completely honest, he doesn’t understand why Wu Fan treats Yixing’s sex like it is something that needs to be guarded from others, considering that Yixing has been disenchanted from the notion that sex is private and exclusive to devotion long ago. It’s almost as if the Dragon Head is trying to erase the fact that Yixing has spent about a third of his life as a prostitute, whether as a sex slave or an escort, it’s basically the same. For Yixing, sex can mean so many different things separately and even all at once, but he also understands that not everyone knows the way prostitutes like him and Lu Han have learned to separate the different kinds of sex. They don’t really have a choice _but_ to separate it, otherwise the very thought of doing it would make them sick with how much they loathe it.

Yixing wishes he could explain this, but not only is he afraid of reasoning with the Dragon Head, he’s also beginning to wonder if the tall, dangerous man will make a reappearance at El Dorado ever again. Yixing had assumed at first that since Wu Fan forbade Yixing from having sex with anyone else, he would come by at least once or twice a week to see him. Obviously this has yet to happen, and after all this time the aftereffects of not being bedded as often as he used to are starting to really make themselves known in Yixing’s body. Previously, Yixing had only self-pleasured once or twice in his whole life, but now he does it almost daily. His body aches and craves for something he’s not sure he’ll ever have again; Yixing wouldn’t say that he particularly cares for sex, but that doesn’t mean it’s not something he’s used to having daily by now.

Doing it alone makes him feel empty and does virtually nothing but delay the ache just that much longer. Not to mention that it is embarrassing because the only thing Yixing can imagine while peaking is the Dragon Head, which he knows is probably normal. Yixing hasn’t felt the kind of pleasure he felt with the _Duizhang_ ever before in his life; with clients it had always been about assisting them, and with Boa it was more about him receiving her approval than intimacy. Even with Lu Han it had always been about security, about being there for each other, to strengthen their emotional bond. Yixing doesn’t quite know how to label what he felt with Wu Fan as anything other than mind-numbing terror twisted with captivation, and that thought alone makes him tremble with an indescribable restlessness seeping from his bones.

It’s all of these different thoughts that keep him from properly sleeping tonight, the third weekend since the triad members turned El Dorado on its head. Yixing doesn’t dream of anything, just the dark nothingness of the back of his eyelids, and when he wakes the sun is just barely threatening to breach the horizon with dark hues of pink and orange diluting the deep black. It’s not the first time he’s woken at dawn but it has been awhile since the last, and he stares blankly out the window through the gap in the curtains until he can see the sun appearing from behind the familiar silhouette of the buildings in the Red Light district. Still tired from his intermittent sleep and feeling particularly lonely, he knows that whether or not Lu Han is awake, he can at least lie together with him instead of staying in the room alone.

Yixing shrugs on an outer coat over his translucent night robes before he cracks open one of the doors. Unsurprisingly, Yixing is used the familiar sight of Xiumin diligently keeping guard just in front of the double doors by now. He’s sitting on a chair that Yixing procured for him a while ago when he realized that he’s never seen the Talon sleep, even in the daytime. Yixing had hoped that at some point if Xiumin was sitting instead of standing he would at _least_ doze off once so that Yixing could finally be able to slip past him and visit Lu Han in the hospital wing all those days ago, except for that fact that no matter how late Yixing stayed up, Xiumin was always vigilant and wide-awake.

Back then, Yixing started to suspect that the Talon must leave his post at _some_ point in the night because once, when Yixing had been on the cusp of dreamland, Xiumin had opened the door to check and see if Yixing was still conscious. Unfortunately Yixing fell asleep before the door even closed, and since that day he hasn’t witnessed his guard do it again. He figures that Xiumin must wait until Yixing is fast asleep before leaving, and even then, knowing how vigilant the Talon is at keeping orders, Yixing can’t imagine he leaves his position for very long to begin with even though he knows he spends the time he’s not guarding Yixing’s door in Lu Han’s chambers. It doesn’t help that Yixing is still afraid of him even after weeks, despite knowing that Wu Fan appointed the older man to watch over him.

“I’m going to see Lu ge,” Yixing supplies even though his destination is obvious; where else would he go, since he hasn’t left his room for any other reason before? The Talon makes no acknowledgement of Yixing’s words, which is nothing new because it doesn’t mean he wasn’t heard. Xiumin merely gets up to shadow Yixing down the corridor, and when the escort slips into the Dawn Room, he catches Xiumin taking a guarding stance just outside with the corner of his eye before the doors shut behind him.

Almost immediately after Yixing enters the room Lu Han sits up, long hair disheveled as he stares owlishly back at Yixing in confusion for a second before the light of the early sun accentuates the smile blooming across the elder’s face. “Xing,” he breathes, and opens his arms wide as an invitation to join him. For some reason it feels like forever since the last time Yixing curled up in Lu Han’s bed, since as of late the two of them spend their time in the Dragon Room more often than not. Yixing doesn’t even realize he’s sprinting up the stairs into the loft until he’s already clambering onto the mattress and burying his face in Lu Han’s chest rather than his stomach as he normally would, mindful of his wound.

Lu Han smells sweet as always, a confectionary-like scent that Yixing has come to associate as the natural smell of his skin after years of treatment and expensive imported soaps. Despite everything that has happened, it gives a feeling of warmth and comfort that Yixing wishes he could lose himself in, and he tightens his hold, pressing further into Lu Han. He almost wants to believe that if he holds on hard enough he’ll just dissolve right into him because sometimes he finds himself just as scared that Lu Han will go somewhere Yixing can’t reach, as Lu Han is afraid of losing sight of him. Lu Han is a rock in a violent storm and although he shifts here and there when things get rough, he’s a constant that Yixing can’t afford to lose. Lu Han runs his fingers through Yixing’s hair, humming as his fingers thread into the soft dark brown curls and his blunt nails scrape relaxingly against the younger’s scalp, and it makes Yixing realize how long it’s been since they last spent a sleepless night together and how much he aches for another human’s touch.

Yixing doesn’t say anything but Lu Han seems to know like he always does when Yixing needs him, so the elder pulls Yixing with him as he falls back into the bed, keeping him in his arms as they lay side by side. Their eyes meet first and there is amusement in Lu Han’s that makes Yixing feel embarrassed, smacking the other’s shoulder before leaning in closer. Their mouths meet second, soft and warm and familiar in a way that Yixing had forgotten how much he craved. He finds comfort in sucking Lu Han’s lower lip into his mouth before parting, pulling back just to stretch out his neck and bare it so that Lu Han can press warm kisses there. His breath tickles the sensitive skin and it makes Yixing giggle, squirming even more when Lu Han subsequently also giggles and continues to blow air where Yixing is weakest. Yixing feels the heat building up in his abdomen, slowly yet surely, laughter growing more and more breathless the longer Lu Han’s kisses become.

Yixing wants to ask Lu Han to touch him so this horrible edge Yixing has been feeling for the past weeks can finally dissipate. Just as his sexual frustration has been eating away at Yixing’s rational thinking, a similar countering need has been visibly building up in Lu Han. Since it began, Yixing has confided his desperation to Lu Han every time he had to spend a little longer to relieve himself, feeling less and less satisfied by his own hands and fingers the more time that passed since he last had sex. Despite the careful sexual gap they’ve kept between them, Yixing knows that Lu Han itches to help him as well, can feel it in the way that Lu Han trembles as he holds Yixing close and kisses him almost as desperately as Yixing kisses back, as if _he_ was the one in a state of withdrawal. Perhaps they both are; for years they maintained a level of intimacy no one could breach, and yet all of a sudden it has been stolen from their grasps. The closer they get to crossing the line, the more Yixing starts to realize that he doesn’t really know _where_ the line Wu Fan set even lies. Does Lu Han helping him find release count as sex? They’ve done it so often before that it’s hard for Yixing to gauge, and it’s not like Yixing hasn’t helped out the few friends he had in a similar cooperative fashion.

Lu Han seems to be thinking the same thing and he pulls back, brows furrowed. He looks cute like this, lips pink and swollen, and Yixing feels an overwhelming affection form in his chest, making him instinctively shift closer on the pillows so that their lips can meet again. The elder indulges him for a few more minutes until Yixing’s half hard length is pressing insistently against Lu Han’s thigh, the latter of which is resting between the younger’s legs. They still have their robes on because they’re both too lethargic to get up and move anymore, fine with just kissing until their mouths are completely swollen, but Lu Han insists on interrupting their gradual course. “Hey,” Lu Han whispers in between kisses, and he bites Yixing’s lower lip when the escort doesn’t seem to hear him. “What did the _Duizhang_ say was okay?”

This time Yixing pulls his head away and stares back at Lu Han, the two of them just lying on their sides next to each other; it was cold earlier but now Yixing feels warm, and chest to chest like this he can feel how in sync the steady thumping of their hearts has become. It feels recharging to be with Lu Han like this again, to feel like he is the most important person to the elder, and Yixing wonders if Wu Fan would deny him even the touch of his friend. Without hesitating Yixing knows the answer to that—of course he would. Wu Fan doesn’t know how much Yixing craves this closeness with Lu Han. He also doesn’t know Lu Han the way Yixing does, doesn’t know how important sex is to Lu Han’s self-esteem, how Lu Han doesn’t feel like he’s worth anything to anyone unless people want to sleep with him.

Yixing has learned over time that it’s a thought that has been so conditioned in Lu Han that even though what they’re doing is probably not allowed, even though the feelings they have for each other are only amiable and the only intention of their activities being to relax and comfort each other, there is a joy in Lu Han’s eyes from being intimate again that Yixing hasn’t seen since before the courtesan started trying to make up for Yixing’s touch with Xiumin’s. Xiumin, who doesn’t have sex with Lu Han because he wants to make the courtesan feel better about himself, but to make him feel guilty for needing this kind of validation in the first place, something Lu Han can’t even help. Yixing is not spiteful, nor is he a particularly angry person, but he can’t help but feel resentment towards someone who uses Lu Han’s genuine feelings as something to rip to shreds, not thinking of the consequences doing so leaves behind.

No, Yixing doesn’t know what the _Duizhang_ said. He never told Yixing anything. And although Yixing is not one to indulge in himself, he can’t help but want to use this aching sexual frustration to his advantage and pull Lu Han back to him. The bond he has with Lu Han, the genuine smile the courtesan has on his face in this very moment, makes Yixing feel just a little bit more willing to cross the line no matter the consequence. “We don’t have to do anything,” Yixing replies quietly, shifting just a little closer. Their noses brush together and Lu Han looks searchingly into Yixing’s eyes; he sees that Yixing is giving him an out, a moment for him to pull away and refuse.

Lu Han won’t though, as they both know. Lu Han could never say no. “Do you need it?” the elder finally asks instead, and his voice is softer than the pink light of dawn bathing the room in an otherworldly glow.

Yixing thinks about the ache in his abdomen, the loneliness that comes with touching himself when he’s always had Lu Han to do it for him. He thinks of how hard Lu Han has been trying to distance himself from Yixing’s touch, how upset Yixing feels at Xiumin’s inability to care for his friend the way he deserves to be cared for, and the answer spills past his lips without even a second of hesitation. “I do,” Yixing finally says, squirming impossibly closer. He allows himself to feel needy in a way that he is comfortable with experiencing only in front of Lu Han, like a child wanting everything all at once. “Please, ge,” he whispers. “Please. I need it.”

If giving in to what he wants will help Lu Han, then Yixing will gladly give into everything.

Like always, Lu Han is meticulous. He doesn’t exaggerate anything or drag it out, just giving Yixing exactly what it takes to satisfy his needs. Lu Han’s hand slips past the folds of Yixing’s robes to wrap around Yixing’s now fully hardened length, and immediately the familiar touch soothes an ache that has been building up between his legs for a while now. Yixing wants to return the favor but he knows that doing even this much is probably not allowed, so instead he wraps his arms around Lu Han’s neck and kisses him languidly. Lu Han uses the oil from the pots in his drawers to make sure Yixing is comfortable with the drag of his palm, using a little less than what was probably needed because he knows Yixing appreciates a little more friction.

By the time Yixing is whimpering softly, feeling the tightness in his stomach, Lu Han’s grip has tightened, wrist twisting in just the right way. Yixing thinks he might cry from how much he needs this, hips twitching forward into Lu Han’s encircled fingers. Yixing has come to terms with the fact that Wu Fan left behind a kind of insatiable desperation imbedded under Yixing’s skin. The Dragon Head broke something in Yixing, something that makes him crave to be caressed and touched like this, a feeling Yixing never really thought about before. Even Lu Han seems startled by his reactions, nosing his way down to Yixing’s neck and suckling pink marks into the younger’s skin, pausing between the soft moans that spill past Yixing’s lips.

Yixing doesn’t know what this change in reaction means for them; the pleasure Yixing feels right now is insurmountable, and for the first time in his life he finds himself wondering what Lu Han must be thinking while seeing him fall apart like this. Even when they’ve lain together before in more intimate ways, the escort’s reactions have never been this intense, this wanton, and it would be more embarrassing if this wasn’t Lu Han in front of him, the person who found Yixing bleeding to death in his most weakest moment and still loved him not out of pity but simply for _existing_. Yixing wants to share this feeling with Lu Han, but now after having sex with someone like Wu Fan, Yixing can actually feel the emotional gap that Lu Han has in his heart for the first time. When their eyes meet, Yixing realizes that Lu Han truly doesn’t comprehend why Yixing’s body is reacting like this; that sex can actually feel good and be good at the same time, instead of being a way to validate something, to prove himself.

The shock of realizing this nearly brings Yixing back from the brink of climax. He’s not sure if he should be horrified over this revelation, or wonder how spending only one night with the _Duizhang_ and then spending the subsequent days in virtual isolation has brought him to this insight. Instead, Lu Han pushes through and catches Yixing off guard, his abdomen tightening as he seizes suddenly and spills into the palm of the elder’s hand with a moan that comes out louder than intended. Lu Han quickly joins their lips to quiet him but it’s too late, and they both jolt at the sound of the doors being pushed open.

They sit up in bed, still entangled together, and due to the dimness of the room versus the corridor lights that have been turned on, all either of them can see is Xiumin’s silhouette facing them. “Zhang Yixing,” he says, and his voice is grave in a way that fills Yixing with fear. Despite his anger towards the Talon, Yixing is still so afraid of him, and goose bumps push up on his skin. “I think it’s time you leave.”

Yixing doesn’t want to leave Lu Han behind in his chambers, turning to look at the elder with worry, but he’s surprised to see Lu Han smiling. The elder leans in close to press a chaste kiss against Yixing’s forehead, pushing at him to leave. “I’ll be fine,” he murmurs, and his eyes are glowing in the darkness. The relief and happiness from being able to help Yixing, from being close together like this again, shows on his face, and Yixing can’t help but be pleased by it. It feels worth it, and Yixing nods, pecking the other’s cheek before slipping off the bed. He’s disheveled and sensitive all over but he manages to arrange his robes as he shuffles down the steps and past Xiumin, who is not even looking at him but at Lu Han on the loft. Yixing takes note of his clenched fists and tense shoulders, and sees a kind of jealousy there that can’t be validated by his actions—you have to care for someone to be possessive, right? But what does Yixing know.

Halfway to his room he hears the doors of the Dawn Room being slammed shut and the sound of it startles Yixing; he turns to see no one in the corridor but Ilwoon, who only just made her way into the North Wing. For a moment, Yixing wants to do nothing more than to run back to the room and protect what little of Lu Han he gained back by stopping Xiumin, but he remembers Lu Han’s words and holds them in his heart, even if he knows they can’t possibly be true.

_I’ll be fine._

 

x x x

 

It only happens one more time, this crossing of the line.

It happens when Yixing is woken to the sound of Lu Han’s screams of terror echoing down the corridor. It’s been a long time since Yixing last remembers something like this happening, not since he was moved to the North Wing, and he scrambles off his bed and bursts out of the room. Xiumin is standing guard outside of Yixing’s room, looking shocked for once instead of his usual void expression, and he stops Yixing from going. “It might not be safe—” the Talon starts to say, but Yixing pushes at his arms and shakes his head desperately.

“He’s not being attacked,” Yixing discloses, trying his hardest to pass. “It’s the nightmares. Let me go, I can stop them.” Xiumin looks confused for a moment, like he doesn’t know if he should believe him—Lu Han’s screams are only getting higher and more frantic in pitch, these sounds of distress that make tears prick Yixing’s eyes the longer he stays out here and not by Lu Han’s side. “Please,” the escort begs, still pushing futilely against Xiumin’s arms. “Let me help him.”

Xiumin doesn’t allow Yixing to pass him but he does walk in front of him all the way to the Dawn Room, a gun in his hand like he doesn’t know what to expect. Yixing wants to scream out his own frustration when he hears Lu Han’s thrashing on the bed, the terrible sounds of it shaking and groaning under his movements, and when Xiumin pushes open the door Yixing uses the space under his arm to pass him and finally run into the room. Without hesitation he sprints up to the loft, Xiumin on his heels like he’s about to grab Yixing before he realizes that there really is no one else but Lu Han. Lu Han, whose eyes are clenched shut, teeth gnashing together until blood spills from his mouth. He’s having a nightmare, if you can even call it that, his body convulsing and shaking like he’s running as he voices out words that don’t even make sense and come out as screams instead. Yixing doesn’t wake him because it never helps; instead, he wraps his body around Lu Han’s jerking one to stop him from moving as much and presses his mouth against the top of his head, whispering words of reassurance.

He keeps Lu Han’s face pressed against his chest, as close as possible, and it takes a good part of an hour before Lu Han’s screams turn into hoarse whimpers. His body is shaking so hard that the entire bed vibrates with him, but he’s holding onto Yixing and it’s enough to know that the words are working. Yixing is only vaguely aware of Xiumin watching them as his focus is solely on rubbing Lu Han’s back soothingly as the other mumbles something about his father finding him. A few more minutes later and Lu Han wakes voluntarily. He doesn’t usually regain consciousness after these episodes, able to sleep peacefully once he’s been calmed, but when he does wake he normally can’t sleep for days afterwards, simply out of distress. He’s sobbing when he comes to and Yixing wants to protect him, tears spilling down his own cheeks when Lu Han wraps his arms around Yixing waist and squeezes him so close it hurts. He doesn’t realize that the Talon leaves them be until long after Yixing has relaxed Lu Han onto the bed sheets, taking care of him gently like he needs to keep his mind off the visions plaguing him. He’s so vulnerable in this moment that Yixing feels physical pain when he tries to keep from consoling Lu Han with his body, so he simply doesn’t.

Lu Han needs him and Yixing will always be there for him, if it’s the last thing he does.

 

x x x

 

Yixing is convinced that the Dragon Head won’t be coming back. It’s been over a month since his visit and despite the continuous supply of new robes every day, Yixing is starting to believe that maybe Wu Fan is just trying to save him from the pitiful existence he had before. Lu Han’s health condition has improved greatly, although it seems inversely that his nightmares have made a nasty comeback. They aren’t as bad as that first night and Lu Han doesn’t wake up even after he calms, but Yixing still makes sure to curl himself reassuringly around Lu Han’s anyway, if only to make sure the dreams don’t return while he’s gone.

Today is only the second day since Lu Han began meeting with his regulars again, and Yixing can see that whatever peace the courtesan had made with Xiumin is already starting to fall apart. Yixing plans on talking to Lu Han whenever the elder’s schedule opens up, but until then Yixing struggles to read one of the books in his library that was assigned to him by his tutors. It’s not easy considering that he barely recalls the alphabet, let alone being able to read the characters out loud, but he understands some words. He’s surprised that the characters no longer swim about the page confusingly as they did when he was in school, although sometimes they do appear jumbled up. His teachers seem to understand his struggles and instead of giving up on him, they continue to persevere, and Yixing is more grateful to the Dragon Head than he could ever think to thank him.

It’s while he’s trying to read the first syllable of the opening page aloud that he hears the doors of the Dragon Room swing open from the living room. Yixing turns around from his desk against the wall to look behind him, although he can’t see anything but the dining room from his vantage point. Still, he figures it must be Lu Han—who else would make an appearance this late in the evening, although he finished earlier than Yixing expected—coming to vent his complaints about Xiumin ignoring him like he did yesterday. The other two had become somewhat cordial as of late, and they weren’t just always having sex, even though it seems Lu Han is the one who is more enthusiastic to speak to the Talon than the other way around. Knowing this, Yixing hurriedly tries to at least figure out the first damn word before he gives up on the rest of it. He doesn’t realize that Lu Han is behind him until a shadow falls over him, but a strange feeling takes over when he notices that the shadow is a lot larger than the one the courtesan usually casts. When a familiar large hand comes to rest on the right side of the desk, the sleeves of the black suit jacket barely covering the wrist tattoos peaking out from underneath the cuffs, Yixing knows without a doubt just who it is.

“‘ _Fate is like a book_ ,’” a low voice reads for him, and the escort’s stomach drops immediately, hands shaking as he stares at the page of the book until the lines start merging together. The sound of the other man’s voice is like something out of a daydream, trancelike and a bit hazy, and yet Yixing can feel those burning eyes on him like it was only hours ago when Wu Fan had pressed him into the bed and rearranged everything Yixing thought he knew about this world. It takes Yixing another few seconds to gather his wits before he lifts his head to look beside him, staring up at the face of the Dragon Head, whose dark, mischievous eyes are glinting playfully at him as he stares right back.

“M-My lord,” Yixing stammers, face flushing and completely breathless, unable to gather his thoughts. He’s still reeling for the realization that the _Duizhang_ is here, in front of him, in the flesh, and Yixing is glad he is sitting or he might have passed out otherwise, although he knows he should get up to bow so he doesn’t seem disrespectful. He’d forgotten how hard it is to think when those eyes are on him, how hard it is speak or move or breathe in his presence. When Yixing makes to stand, Wu Fan’s other hand comes to rest on Yixing’s left shoulder to keep him in place, and the younger releases an involuntary yelp at how hot his skin feels even through the fabric of his robes. In this position it’s like the larger man is encasing him from everywhere, and Yixing’s neck prickles in response when he realizes he has nowhere to run. Not that he would go anywhere, but the knowledge makes him break a sweat even though nothing has happened. Yet.

“You’ve been naughty while I’ve been gone,” the Dragon Head suddenly murmurs, and although he is still smirking impishly, not a single trace of anger in his expression, Yixing feels like his heart is going jump out of his throat. The hand on Yixing’s shoulder slides down so suddenly while Yixing’s remains in his mental predicament that it makes him gasp with surprise, caught off guard by the trail of fire following in the wake of Wu Fan’s palm. The elder’s hand curls around Yixing’s side and before the escort knows what’s happening, he’s being slid out of the chair and pressed up against the front of Wu Fan’s body. Yixing has no choice but to look up into his eyes, arms trapped between them, and he lets out another whimper. He wishes he had more of a vocabulary but at the moment he’s forgotten how to speak either way. Yixing isn’t sure anymore if it’s fear or excitement but his entire body is quivering, mouth drying up; suddenly all Yixing can think about is that night a month ago, how Wu Fan had fucked Yixing until he was gaping open, how he would probably do it again tonight, and how much Yixing has been thinking about it and craving him all this time.

With the Dragon Head, everything is different, and Yixing wants to explain himself but he doesn’t really get a chance to before he’s being backed up into the desk, Wu Fan’s free hand curling around Yixing’s thigh and pulling it up. Yixing decides that words can wait, already growing hard at the thought of being mounted again, and he follows the larger man’s movements so that his legs wrap around his waist, back against the stained glass window and the rest of him on the table. This is the desk where Yixing does his homework, the one his tutors teach him on, and it would be more embarrassing if Yixing wasn’t feeling so desperate. A month ago Yixing would have thought about every little thing, but after being deprived for so long, the _Duizhang_ ’s touch is all he can think about, out of his mind and whining shamefully as Wu Fan sucks Yixing’s tongue into his mouth.

“You’ve gained weight,” the Dragon Head mentions when he pulls back, and Yixing blushes harder at the self-satisfaction in his voice. “At least you listened to that much.” It’s almost embarrassingly true how much weight Yixing has gained since they were last together but he feels healthier now, enjoying the change even if he never particularly cared for food to begin with. Yixing jumps when Wu Fan loosens Yixing’s sash without preamble, the robes falling open and allowing his large hands to run across the soft, bare skin of his thighs that it revealed. Yixing’s blush runs down his neck and into his chest, feeling self conscious; he’s grateful that the small hickeys Lu Han bit into his skin a while ago have long since faded away because Yixing isn’t sure just how lenient the Dragon Head would be if he _saw_ the evidence after hearing about it as well. He leans in to kiss Yixing again and Yixing melts into it, wanting nothing more than to do it over and over until he can’t tell up from down. Distracted by the kissing, he startles when he feels Wu Fan’s hands slide between his legs and lower, so that his long fingers prod against the dry, puckered skin.

“Be honest,” the Dragon Head murmurs hotly against the column of Yixing’s neck, dragging a soft whine from him when his teeth dig tenderly into the sensitive skin there. When he pulls away he stares into Yixing’s eyes before continuing his question. “Whom have you let inside since me?”

The red in Yixing’s skin intensifies at the straightforward question, but he answers honestly. “M-My fingers,” he replies, biting down onto his lower lip. It’s embarrassing to admit but Lu Han was much better at standing on the line than Yixing was as the month continued to stretch, Yixing becoming more desperate even as Lu Han remained forthright. In his defense, Lu Han had Xiumin while Yixing only had the comfort of his hands. At his answer the Dragon Head looks surprised but pleased, believing Yixing without question—probably because he knows Yixing would be too afraid to lie anyway, which is completely true—, and when his smirk returns Yixing’s entire body feels too hot for him to bear.

“Well then,” Wu Fan hums, licking into Yixing’s mouth yet again, kissing him until the younger is gasping for breath against him. When he parts their lips, his face remains close, gleaming eyes looking straight into Yixing’s and stealing his soul right through them. “Why don’t we continue where we left off?”


	9. Part Eight: If a Tree Falls.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 7,474
> 
> This part continues where I left off in Before Dawn, so keep the timeline in mind.

“Tell me why you did it,” Minseok probes when Lu Han is curled up on himself in bed, night robes haphazardly draped back on and body aching all over. He’s barely conscious at this point, staring up at the canopy on his bed, mind hazy from sex and eyelids drooping with fatigue. Lu Han’s eyes still sting from all the crying he did with Yixing, the day feeling so endless ever since he returned from the hospital wing earlier that morning. His skin burns hot from his post-orgasmic high, but for some reason Lu Han feels utterly cold inside. Even as he tries to withdraw into himself and keep out this icy feeling, he feels too raw after Minseok fucked him past the edges of his own consciousness. It was exactly what Lu Han wanted when he practically threw himself at the older man, yet at the same time it feels like it lacks everything—it was as if the hatred hadn’t been enough to rip him apart all the way, like Minseok hadn’t pounded into him like he wanted to kill him the way Lu Han expected, hadn’t clawed enough marks into his skin to make Lu Han forget he was alive.

If anything, Lu Han felt more awake than ever, more aware of his loneliness as Minseok readjusted the clothes he never even fully took off and stood just a ways off from the bed, distancing himself in that way the elder does when he is conscious of it. Lu Han doesn’t want to look at Minseok in the eye for fear that the Talon will find something ugly in them and leave without another word, but when the courtesan remembers that there isn’t much left of himself that Minseok doesn’t already hate, he shifts to face him anyway.

“Why I did what?” he finally asks back, biting into his lower lip out of habit and wincing when the swollen flesh stings between the blunt edges his teeth.

Minseok shakes his head instead of replying properly, scoffing like he expected Lu Han’s words. He’s not even looking at the courtesan anymore, lost in thought, and for a few seconds Lu Han’s worn-out mind drifts, gaze flitting to the windows briefly. Outside the heavy rain pelts hard against the shuttered glass, rattling them relentlessly as the cool smell of winter rainwater permeates the air. All of a sudden lightning flashes and lights up the dark room with a brilliant flare of white, the deafening sound of rolling thunder stuffing up the thick silence in the space between them. The sudden burst of light makes the room appear to expand in size, especially since it felt like the darkness had confined the two of them together on the bed nearly all night, trapping them in and making It almost hard to breathe with the weight of Minseok’s solid body rocking between Lu Han’s aching thighs.

After what feels like hours but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, Minseok seems to have finally gathered his thoughts enough to continue his question, his small movement recapturing Lu Han’s eyes as he stares back at the man in bed. The sudden attention catches Lu Han off-guard and he’s unable to look away as Minseok’s lips part to speak. “Despite what happened to your mother, how much she hated it here, why do you still remain? What is tying you here?” the Talon questions more clearly this time.

The courtesan doesn’t know how to answer, or if he even can, brows furrowing as he tilts his head in confusion. In a normal perspective it was only natural that he takes his mother’s place at the brothel, seeing how unique and irreplaceable she was compare to all the others; on a deeper level, Lu Han wonders how else was he supposed to repay being cared for all these years. He’s gone through a lot but in the end the brothel was his home, where he was taught everything he knows, where he grew up and has always been. What is tying him here? Well, he’s never taken the time to think about it because he never felt a need to. It was his lifelong burden, his debt to the Madame’s family, his dead mother’s legacy, an atonement for his father’s evils, familiar because it is the only thing he’s ever known. Lu Han could say a million and one things in reply, going on and on until his lungs dry up, yet the words that pass his lips are, “I don’t understand.” His answer is as awkward and hesitant as he feels, unsure because he’s always had so many excuses but never a reason. He doesn’t even know if he possesses the ability to divest this particular facet of himself to anyone when he himself has never taken a look at it before.

“You don’t understand,” Minseok echoes, and he sounds as annoyed as he looks, arms crossing over his chest as he continues to stare back at Lu Han. The lightning flashes brightly again, the following sound loud enough to startle the courtesan, but not as much as Minseok’s next words. “Well then, do you _enjoy_ this?” he ploughs on, demanding answers that Lu Han doesn’t have, and the sudden intenseness of the atmosphere makes him scramble to sit up quickly. “You obviously hate it when we have sex, so why do you insist on continuing this? Why do you need someone to fuck you so badly?”

The sharpness of the question, coupled with the crude straightforwardness of his words, feels like a slap to the face and causes Lu Han’s cheeks to burn with a flood of heat. He swallows thickly as he sputters out a reply. “I don’t need just _someone_ to bed me,” he argues, barely able to hear the sound of his own voice over the pouring rain. It sounds more like a whine than anything, weak despite his honesty, and it leaves an overarching feeling of discomfort curling in his gut. Lu Han hates realizing just how lowly Minseok thinks of him now, not sure when exactly they went wrong, knowing that once this same person used to look at him with kind eyes and an earnest smile. There is none of that left in the coldness of his voice, or the anger in his eyes, making him virtually indistinguishable with the boy from his memories.

Lu Han wonders what happened to him, why he never removes his clothes when they have sex, why he is so reluctant to be gentle with Lu Han that he must force himself to be rough. He wonders why Minseok asks him these kinds of questions only to grow mad at the response, or why the answers to them are so important to him when he turns around and acts like Lu Han doesn’t matter to him. Those thoughts urge Lu Han to speak out a little, confess more than he would have to anyone else, more than he probably should have. He’s irritated—it’s a strange, twisting feeling in his gut, different from any other kind of anger he’s ever felt, and it takes him by surprise. He means to say the next words boldly but it feels too much like he’s baring his soul, instead coming out timid and unsure.

“And I don’t hate it. I… wouldn’t pull you in if I didn’t want it.”

Lu Han mentally curses at his own incompetency, flinching at the weakness in his voice. He knows what Minseok’s reaction will be to it before it even happens, and despite being completely ready, it hurts him. The Talon just shakes his head again, and for a brief second it looks almost as if he has more to say. Instead he curls his lip in exasperation as he turns around and leaves the room without another word. Lu Han watches helplessly after him, feeling like he needs to explain the complicated web of feelings tangling inside of him, but at the same time knowing that he doesn’t want to either. How does one tell another that he liked the way they despised him? That it was more soothing to be hated for everything he is than to be loved for everything he never was? That Minseok’s piercing gaze that so often looks right through him, making his bones rattle with something other than responsibility for once, was far more satisfying than the cloudy eyes of someone who was enraptured only by what they saw?

Despite a lot of things, Lu Han likes that it never matters to Minseok whether or not Lu Han feels ugly, whether Lu Han just wants to stop talking, whether he is strong or weak or somewhere in the middle—he simply takes what Lu Han gives him, and Lu Han would rather just keep giving and giving until he just ran out of everything he had. The Talon was the only person Lu Han could want freely, the only person who involved himself with Lu Han by choice and without any expectations of him; the only problem is that Lu Han is piling on his own expectations instead. Somewhere, deep inside of himself, Lu Han can’t help but wish for something more to be hiding behind Minseok’s dark gaze, that despite everything he’s ever said or done, he might actually want something more from Lu Han than he appears to.

If anything, Lu Han loathes that Minseok assumes Lu Han only pulls him in because that’s just what he does, that that’s his duty as a prostitute to want to have sex with everyone. Rather, he wishes Minseok would understand that Lu Han pulls him in because it’s the only thing he thinks will keep the other from leaving. When it comes down to it, Minseok will not remain at the brothel forever, just like everyone else in Lu Han’s life that comes in only to move on from this place like it was just another small stage of life rather than Lu Han’s entire world. Even with Minseok’s insensitive words and rough, bruising hands, Lu Han almost desperately wants him to stay—the sex is just as much a way to help Lu Han forget his own pains as it is an incentive to make Minseok stay by his side, even if only for a little while at a time.

Old habits die hard, as the saying goes, and Lu Han has never been one to value himself over anyone.

 

x x x

 

There are moments in one’s life where you question your morality. As a conditioned brothel prostitute—which involves a sick mindset that is ingrained normally at a young age, as the unfortunate going tends to be—questioning the shortcomings of matters don’t happen very often so long as your customer is pleased and you are still able to serve another client. Lu Han himself is not prone to crossing the lines or rules of any form. He is too well-trained, too loyal, too self-loathing; anything incriminating that says otherwise is just for show because he is stuck in El Dorado like a mouse caught in a trap, up to his ears in quicksand with no foreseeable end in sight. When it comes to sex, Lu Han has taken to observing it more as a comfort than a pleasure. He can experience pleasure from sex like any other person, although it’s not something he craves as a desire, but rather a routine. He feels ill when he’s not doing something, but even more so when he’s not doing what he is meant to be doing, which is pleasing someone. Clients are always welcome, but since the beginning, Yixing is preferred.

Lu Han craves sex with Yixing for two reasons and two reasons only: to find comfort and to hope it’ll keep him from leaving. It’s futile because Lu Han knows Yixing cares even less for sex than Lu Han does, but at the same time he understands that Yixing indulges him only because he knows Lu Han feels better believing Yixing won’t leave him so long as they bed each other often. Lu Han isn’t senseless, and he understands that this approach of his is futile, yet ever since he became a courtesan his entire life has been dictated by cycles of patrons who come to see him regularly, whether it’s once a week or once every few months. He has operated in this way for so long that some part of him can’t seem to let go of the impression that it’ll work on people he actually wants to keep too, despite the obvious holes in this logic. Yixing is different from other clients in that he sleeps with Lu Han because he wants to stay with him forever just as much as Lu Han wants to stay with him, giving soft sighs and tender kisses that keep Lu Han warm in winter—the only season he hates because of how lonely the cold makes him feel.

Yet now, when Yixing gasps wantonly against Lu Han’s lips and begs to be touched, the Dragon Head be damned, something strange curdles inside the courtesan along with the happiness of being close to his friend. Lu Han observes the way Yixing writhes against his body, how he whines as he sucks on the elder’s collarbones, shuddering as he spills with a sobbing moan into Lu Han’s fist, and it suddenly makes him question the consequence of the situation. Lu Han remembers very clearly every last detail—Yixing’s sweaty brow and trembling hands, his flushed face and kiss-swollen lips—all of it is familiar, is _Lu Han’s_ doing, and yet it is somehow completely new and foreign at the same time. The realization hits as a shock to Lu Han when he sees this change in the younger man, almost like holding a stranger in his arms. Even with the feeling of satisfaction knowing that he was able to help Yixing in his time of need, that Lu Han was able to comfort him when the other asked for him to, there was something bizarre prickling under Lu Han’s skin, something intimidating.

Yixing had changed, had developed a new part of him that Lu Han had no clue about—almost as if he’d grown a second head—, and there was only one other person who could have done such a thing to him. A person neither of them had seen in days and yet still manages to leave a daily mark on their lives. Lu Han envies it—not Yixing’s newfound fortune, not in the least, but the Dragon Head’s ability to cause this sudden change in Yixing. Lu Han can’t help but compare himself to the faction leader despite the severe discrepancy in their ranks and reputations, realizing just how much it hurts to hold Yixing in his arms and know that Wu Fan is the reason Yixing’s body reacts the way it does now, like a stranger’s.

Still Lu Han finds gratification through their actions regardless of the lasting effect the Dragon Head left on the younger man. In the end it doesn’t really matter _why_ Yixing was able to find release, but more along the lines of _how_ he found it—the fact that he is here now instead of somewhere out of reach also helps infinitely. Lu Han has already adapted to settling for the short end of the stick, sometimes without even realizing it and accepting only the dregs of what he deserves, so losing this part of his relationship with Yixing to someone else doesn’t really affect him. Or so he’d like to think, anyway. Whatever emotional damage it does to Lu Han is left to simmer in the back of his mind where it will stay until Lu Han is forced to deal with those feelings, usually when he is left alone with them.

But like everything else that pains him, he simply pretends they don’t exist. Minseok catching them in the act helps infinitely, and Lu Han feels a sick sense of giddiness knowing that he won’t be alone to ponder over the revelation that Yixing is no longer the same person he was before the Dragon Head claimed him. Lu Han is almost shaking with the relief he feels from it, guilty, yet ecstatic nevertheless.

“Zhang Yixing, I think it’s time you leave.”

Minseok’s expression is more livid than usual as he glares at Lu Han from the entrance of the room, and the Talon unconsciously slams the doors shut only a few beats after Yixing scurries out. Lu Han is left with a complex feeling of anticipation coiling in his abdomen as Minseok glowers back at him without saying a single word, as if trying to understand his own feelings of irritation towards the courtesan. It’s just the two of them now and despite sounding utterly furious before, the Talon remains unmoving from his position for several long minutes, like he can’t quite comprehend why he closed the door instead of leaving with Yixing. His duty doesn’t extend further than stopping them, yet still he remains. It’s almost like he is battling his own emotions, trying to stop himself from getting carried away in the manner that seems only Lu Han can push him to, just like the previous two times they were alone in this same room and ended up tangled in each other.

It’s tempting to pull Minseok in again, so, _so_ tempting especially when Lu Han doesn’t want to think about anything else but being cracked open by Minseok’s anger, to be so caught up in the Talon’s web that Lu Han won’t even have a chance to contemplate anything else. He can’t stop himself from slipping out of bed and climbing down the stairs of the loft, wavering as he pauses just a little ways off from the other man. He wants to say something, anything, to incite the situation in the direction he wants it go. An automatic apology waits on his tongue as his mouth opens, yet not a word comes out, simply remaining trapped inside with every other harrowing thought he’s had that day. Instead he thinks of how he can spring Minseok like a trap, just as he did last time in the hallway. It was easy to just throw himself at the Talon that night, miserable and lonely as he was after Yixing fell asleep, but he also knows that seduction doesn’t work on the older man. Minseok hates it when Lu Han puts on a show, something that it is still baffling to the courtesan even after two weeks; it reminds him of the first time they had sex, how Lu Han’s body betrayed his craving and Minseok indulged the look in his eyes without even batting a lash.

Minseok is a winding maze with many different conclusions, and when you interact with him you never really know which ending you will get. Sometimes he is observantly kind, assisting the courtesan when he feels too unsteady to walk to Yixing’s room himself, and sometimes he is disparagingly cruel, sneering and turning away without a second remark. Lu Han knows without even asking that Yixing believes that he’s had the Talon in bed more than only just those two times, but in actuality the courtesan has been too afraid to try it again after the second time. He’s afraid not because Minseok is rough no matter Lu Han’s condition—he never wanted kindness to begin with, just approval, which he has yet to receive anyway—, but because he is afraid of being scorned. Minseok’s method of rejection has a tendency to destroy Lu Han’s poise with little effort, cracking him open like an egg and twisting his gut into tight knots until Lu Han would rather just die than be looked upon. The Talon is tough to figure out, going days ignoring Lu Han and pretending he doesn’t exist, and yet Lu Han can feel the Talon’s burning gaze watching him carefully every time he looks away.

By this point Lu Han understands that Minseok _wants_ him to a certain degree, but he rarely leaves openings for the courtesan to crawl into. Lucky for him, Lu Han has been trained since he was fifteen to use openings like those to his advantage when the moment is right, and now, finally, is one of those times.

After helping Yixing take the edge off his frustration, Lu Han now he feels somewhat confident, more complete despite not climaxing himself. His hands tremble at his sides as he fights off the need to hide the evidence, especially when the evidence is his very own body; his night robes hide nothing, not even tied at his waist anymore as it hangs loose, his skin glistening with sweat and hand still covered in Yixing’s release. There is a hungry look in Minseok’s gaze as he takes him in from the closer distance and it makes Lu Han’s skin prickle with electricity, unable to believe just how much Minseok seems to want him in this moment. It’s suddenly so obvious, the anger of the Talon’s gaze, the burning heat of it on Lu Han’s exposed skin as it takes him in so ravenously—he is actually _jealous_. Lu Han finds this notion hard to wrap his head around, and yet it makes so much sense all the same.

Lu Han understands now that Minseok’s fatal attraction, his need to monopolize Lu Han despite his body being owned by everyone but the courtesan himself, must be why it is so tempting to cling to Minseok, to burrow into him, despite the fact that the elder pushes himself away from Lu Han every chance he gets. The truth is, Lu Han started to see through the thin façade Minseok put up ever since that fateful first night in this very room. After some more deliberation, Lu Han now understands that Minseok is just as much enraptured by Lu Han’s beauty as anyone else he’s ever met; the only difference is that he fights it because he hates Lu Han even still, hates the way Lu Han changed himself to adapt to the lifestyle of a courtesan all those years ago. Minseok doesn’t know that Lu Han never had any option otherwise, he doesn’t care enough to ask, and in a sick sort of way Lu Han doesn’t want him to know either. Minseok’s thorny opinions towards the younger makes Lu Han curious about the Talon, makes him want to test the limits and see what else he can find, tugging on the twisted threads until they rip to shreds.

Even though Minseok has a way of making Lu Han feel like he is nothing, that he is superficial and pathetic and licentious, he also helps the courtesan ignore everything else around him the way he did before the very real threat of losing Yixing started to haunt him. With Minseok, Lu Han can entertain the idea that maybe the Talon is right in thinking that Lu Han is artificial right down to his core, that he no longer feels natural human emotions. Although Lu Han knows very well that baring his soul to Minseok the way he’s done with Yixing is probably not safe by any means, he can’t bring himself to care.

He’s destroying himself on purpose, after all, and this is no exception.

“You touched him,” Minseok suddenly says, breaking the heavy silence, and Lu Han startles by how calm the Talon sounds despite his tense posture. “You know that he’s not allowed any sexual contact. You even told me before that you knew, and yet you…” He breaks off his words, and he looks so much angrier now, maybe even some slight disappointment mixed in with the revulsion. His brows furrow so low together that Lu Han worries his handsome face will get stuck like that forever. Minseok’s glare is piercing as he glowers at Lu Han like he wants to tear him to pieces, fists clenched tightly at his sides, almost like he was holding himself back from doing just that; Lu Han can barely contain the anticipating shudder that throbs through his body.

“How far did you go?” Minseok finally demands, taking an alarming step closer.

Despite being the one who approached first, Lu Han’s heart practically leaps out of his chest with surprise and he stumbles backwards a little. “I t-touched him, that’s all,” he confesses immediately, stammering as he tries to gather his bearings from the floor where he dropped them when Minseok made the first move.

This show of wavering conviction spurs Minseok to advance closer still, enough that they’re standing face to face with barely a sliver of space between him. Lu Han feels like he’s being looked down on despite the slight difference of height, feeling small and cornered even though they are in the middle of the room. Minseok grabs the collar of Lu Han’s sheer robe and yanks him closer still, making it flutter open wider and completely exposing the front of his naked body to the cold early morning air. Lu Han’s startled gasp echoes in the dark room and a wave of electricity runs through his nerves almost painfully in his unbridled anticipation, a hot flush blossoming on his face and spreading quickly down his neck and chest.

When they’re this close, Lu Han can feel heat of Minseok’s body, the hot puffs of breath against his skin, the way his lip is curls in anger, and Lu Han wants him so badly that he can’t help but close his eyes and connect their lips, leaning in and bridging the gap. Minseok takes control of the kiss immediately, not that Lu Has was doing anything more than pressing needily against the older man anyway, a soft cry escaping his mouth when the elder pulls away almost as instantly as they had started. “ _This_ again,” Minseok snarls furiously, and this time he yanks Lu Han’s robes off and away from his body before grabbing the courtesan by the back of his head and crashing their lips together in another bruising kiss, kissing him so intensely again that all Lu Han can think of are the stars under his eyelids as oxygen recedes from his lungs and leaves him panting and whimpering for more.

Minseok’s hands are not gentle in the least, one controlling the kiss by keeping Lu Han’s head in place while the other digs into the flesh of his lower back, the wooden frame of the couch burrowing into his spine and probably leaving a dark bruise where it connects. Lu Han wants Minseok so badly that his skin itches for it, making him desperate and half hard already from eagerness as he wraps his long legs around the elder’s waist without any preamble. When Minseok pulls away this time, he just looks wound up than ever, like he can’t even believe what’s happening. “You just had your way with someone else and now you’re acting like a fucking cat in heat.” He’s at the verge of shoving Lu Han away, it’s obvious by the look in his eyes how reluctant he suddenly is, but Lu Han is so far gone already, cheeks so red and flushed you would think someone had slapped him silly.

“Oh, please,” he begs, practically sobbing, frightened of being left like this, “ _please_ , fuck me.”

But he needn’t have worried; Minseok gives in so easily it’d be comical if Lu Han didn’t feel so close to tears, hips jerking in an attempt to find friction where he needed it most but their position didn’t offer. The elder curses furiously before slotting their lips together again, and at this point Lu Han knows that his idea of Minseok being unable to resist him is confirmed. Lu Han wishes he knew why when it’s obvious that the Talon hates this, biting at Lu Han’s swollen, pink mouth and shoving his tongue down his throat, kissing the courtesan so deeply it’s almost like he’s trying to suffocate him. Maybe he is, because Lu Han grows dizzy to the point where he doesn’t even realize Minseok has carried him up the steps onto the loft until he is thrown unceremoniously onto the bed, body bouncing up and leaving behind a swooping sensation in his stomach.

Lu Han looks up at Minseok who has joined him on the bed, the elder crowding him in. The early light of dawn hits the older man’s face so perfectly at this angle, seeping through the windows and illuminating his skin, that Lu Han’s breath catches at the sight of how gorgeous he is—and it’s in this very moment that he finally notices all the other scars on his face. The raised flesh of Minseok’s most prominent scar, the long one that runs down the right side of his face, traps the light and appears to glow right along with all the smaller scars littering his cheeks and the soft area around his mouth, barely visible in everyday life yet practically shining in the soft pink sunlight now.

Minseok catches him staring straightaway, their proximity making it more obvious, and he jolts back almost immediately back onto his knees. Lu Han’s face burns from being caught gawking where he was clearly unwelcome, feeling chastised, but he startles when Minseok begins peeling off his suit jacket instead. A shiver runs through him when his eyes connect with Minseok’s hooded gaze, more intense than ever, burning him as if he were on fire. “They’re from the petty fights I got into before joining _Duizhang_ , but mostly from sleeping on basement floors during slave cycles,” Minseok offers as he loosens his tie, sliding it out of his collar and dropping it next to his jacket.

Lu Han’s mouth feels entirely too dry, curiosity making his heart rate jump; the older man has never disrobed in front of him before, not even bothering to take off his shirt when they had sex, and Lu Han’s throat clogs with disappointment when Minseok doesn’t continue his ministrations. He doesn’t get a chance to feel that way for long before Minseok is on him again, first grabbing Lu Han’s knees and spreading them apart before leaning in and kissing him once more, making room for his firm body between them. Lu Han reaches hesitantly for the front of the Talon’s black button down, a silent question that goes ignored when Minseok shifts to suck bruises onto the courtesan’s neck. The younger man moans at the feeling of teeth scraping against his sensitive flesh, retracting his hands to instead wrap around the elder’s torso and pulling him closer still, submerging the burn of dismissal under the feeling of the Talon’s blunt teeth dragging over his skin.

Minseok leaves dark, blossoming marks over the gentle ones Yixing only just left behind, covering them effortlessly and etching the evidence of their encounter on Lu Han’s body.

 

x x x

 

Lu Han’s nightmares always start with his father returning to El Dorado in search of him. He does nothing in particular but walk through the front doors and down the main walkway. No one stops him or says anything to him. Because Lu Han barely remembers his face, all he sees is a tall, obscure figure making his way through. It’s abnormally dark and Lu Han can feel him approaching, can feel his anger and hatred radiating in waves as he grabs Lu Han by his hair and drags him out of the building. In a way Lu Han fears leaving El Dorado as it means leaving his bubble and entering a world where his father exists, even if technically staying here means his father probably still knows exactly where to find him if he ever did come back.

From there the dream bleeds black ink until everything is dark and murky and Lu Han is left with nothing but himself to deal with, alone for hours on end until he starts screaming to fill up the empty space. He always forgets not to scream because it sets off hundreds, thousands, of other screams that deafen him with how loud they are. They come from everywhere—above him, underneath, invisible hands grabbing at him, scratching him and pulling at his skin like they were trying to rip it right off of his naked body. The nightmare only grows progressively worse from there, until he finds himself right back at El Dorado, only this time the brothel is reduced to nothing but a very long hallway with a double door at the very end of it. It’s cracked open just a little, enough to where Lu Han can hear the distinct sound of two voices coming from inside.

At first he can never really understand what the sobbing woman is shrieking, still trembling and shaking from his earlier experience in the dark. He’s in his younger body again, perhaps around five years old—the same age as when he first found out the truth of his birth—, and he starts walking towards the room. It’s so far away and it stays that way, seemingly going further and further away as the sounds from inside get louder. By this point Lu Han knows exactly what’s going on in that room and he runs, falling over again and again and again as he tries desperately to reach it. He yells and he cries and he crawls, digging his nails into the long, fancy carpet until they bleed from how hard he’s trying, struggling to claw his way there. It never works but he still tries, screaming until his throat is raw and his voice is hoarse. But no matter how hard he tries, how long he runs, how much he bleeds, he can’t reach the room and stop the sin from taking place.

After what seems like hours of struggling, Lu Han’s father comes out of the room, a dark, ghastly figure that glides past Lu Han without even sparing a glance at the bleeding young boy on the ground, like he isn’t even there. Lu Han pays him no mind either, instead crying at the sound of Zishan bawling all alone in the room. She heaves loud, gasping sobs, and the sound of it pierces Lu Han’s chest like a million knives. He doesn’t even know how or when but he makes it to the room, peering through the crack in the door to look at his mother.

Her back is facing him and she looks so young, so small, naked and trembling as she cries curled up on herself. Lu Han screams apologies from the doorway, unable push the heavy doors open—too weak from exerting all his energy and too young to have the strength—and instead tears stream down his cheeks and drip onto the floor.

“I’m sorry!” he cries, reaching towards her futility despite knowing that she won’t see him because he doesn’t exist, not yet. “I’m sorry that I’m here!”

Then he wakes.

Lu Han’s robes are soaked with sweat, body shaking violently as he struggles to fill oxygen into his lungs. It’s not even the worst of the kinds of nightmares he normally has but still it takes several minutes before he even registers his surroundings, or even the strong, warm hands gently cupping his face. He blinks rapidly until they focus on the person looming over him, taking just a bit longer to recognize just who it is. He can’t even believe his own eyes when instead of Yixing he sees Minseok, wondering if he’s starting to hallucinate when he’s awake now too. It’s startling to see the concern reflected in the Talon’s seeing eye, their faces only mere centimeters apart, and it feels like it’s been too long since Lu Han last saw that gentle expression directed at him.

“M-Minseok?” he questions breathlessly, throat too dry and voice coming out like a croak. “Why?”

“Your nightmare,” Minseok replies, looking confused himself. He quickly releases Lu Han’s face like it suddenly burned to touch his skin, pulling away. “Yixing fell asleep hours ago, and I just… I didn’t know how else to calm you.”

The courtesan barely has a second to understand what happened before the Talon is already rolling out of bed and heading towards the stairs, and with a jolt Lu Han realizes that the other is leaving. Despite feeling dizzy and completely disoriented, Lu Han jumps up after him, stumbling when he gets close and falling against Minseok’s retreating back. The elder pauses in surprise and Lu Han takes this chance to cling to him, still shaking from the nightmare, trying to gather his thoughts. “Don’t leave me here alone,” he pleads, burying his face into the Talon’s shirt. “I’m afraid of being alone in here. Take me to Yixing if you have to, but just, please…” Lu Han’s blood is pumping so hard in his ears that he feels like he might throw up, head throbbing and seeing black around the edges of his vision. He’s so afraid, barely able to keep himself together as it is. “ _Please_.”

For a long time neither of them move from their position; it’s so dark both inside and outside that they can barely see anything, everything appearing black and white under the pale moonlight shining through the windows. They stay unmoving until Lu Han’s racing pulse finally calms and he’s no longer hyperventilating, the death grip he had on Minseok’s warm body loosening.

“Are you okay now?” the Talon asks, surprisingly calm. Lu Han doesn’t answer but Minseok doesn’t wait for one, turning around to face the other man.

Lu Han’s arms slip off at the movement and he stares uncomfortably at the ground beneath his bare feet, pulling his night robe tighter around his body for refuge even though the sheer white fabric offers none. “I’m sorry,” he says instead, swallowing thickly. “I wasn’t thinking—”

“I asked if you are _okay_ ,” the other repeats instead, louder and more frustrated.

Startled, the courtesan looks up at the other with round eyes; Minseok looks angry but it’s a different kind of anger that he just can’t place, perhaps even a good kind, and Lu Han’s cheeks burn when he feels his fingertips tingle in elation. “I am now,” Lu Han replies, shyly licking his lips. Whenever Minseok looks at him it feels like he’s examining him, trying to find out all of Lu Han’s secrets as if they were written on his face. He never backs down when their eyes meet, and normally Lu Han is the one who always looks away first, but the courtesan is surprised when Minseok’s gaze flits down to Lu Han’s throat to break the contact.

“You screamed your father’s name,” the Talon informs him suddenly, sounding uneasy as he crosses his arms. “And then called for your mother. You didn’t do it the last two times Yixing comforted you so I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wake you, or…”

Startled, Lu Han feels his chest tighten. “Yes, I… I don’t normally speak properly or wake easily from my nightmares. This one wasn’t as bad.” He swallows thickly when Minseok’s eye meets his again, goose bumps rising on his flesh. “But thank you anyway.”

They stare at each other for a little while longer; the silence isn’t exactly comfortable but it’s not bad either. Lu Han isn’t drowsy from slumber, feeling more awake than he’d been all day, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen Minseok sleep before. This is the longest they’ve been in the same room without Lu Han making Minseok angry enough to leave.

“Last time,” the Talon begins, still staring back at Lu Han. “You wanted to see…” He gestures to his body and Lu Han flushes bright red, heart skipping in shock. He’s thankful that the limited lighting conceals his blush, barely stopping himself from looking away.

“You mean now?” he squeaks out, and Minseok affirms it was a shake of his head.

“No one really asks but I know you wanted to see,” Minseok continues, removing his tie and starting to unbutton his shirt. It takes Lu Han only another few seconds before he realizes that Minseok is referring to the scars Lu Han had been staring at last time they shared a bed. The courtesan isn’t sure what he was expecting but when Minseok removes his shirt, he reveals not only the muscular build he knew he had, but also the long, thick ropes of raised flesh all over his chest and arms. They match the largest one on his face that Lu Han can now see runs all the way down his neck, where it widens until his abdomen. Even those are nowhere near as bad as the horrible matted flesh on his back when he turns to show him, and Lu Han feels nauseous just looking, trembling and lightheaded as he tries not to faint.

Lu Han is sure that he could have nightmares just thinking about how the elder even got those scars, how he was even alive. “Those…?” he tries to formulate words but it’s hard, heart racing from apprehension and blood pumping so hard that his head is throbbing again.

Minseok understands him anyway, watching him carefully as he replies, “They’re whip lashes.” He studies Lu Han’s troubled expression intensely, and Lu Han wants to ask him why he’s looking at him like this but it’s a struggle to even breathe under Minseok’s dark gaze. With trembling hands Lu Han reaches out and drags his palms across the scarred, taut skin of Minseok’s abdomen, lingering over the largest one as he trails it with his fingers all the way up his neck. He brushes against Minseok’s small, scarred lips and then continues up to his blind, cloudy eye, carefully smoothing over the delicate eyelid and feeling the damaged skin against the pad of his thumb. Lu Han’s stomach swoops in surprise when he reconnects his gaze with Minseok’s and finds not anger, but a deep longing instead. The emotion is heavy in Minseok’s seeing eye, embedded in the furrow of his brow and the downturn of his lips, so heavy Lu Han feels like he’s being crushed by the weight of it.

It’s strange, so, so strange to see it there, like it had been there all along yet invisible from view, and the thought of that is frustrating. Lu Han’s heart feels entirely too big for his own chest at this point, able to feel it pounding somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. For some reason the urge to apologize pulls at his tongue, lips parting to say something, but he’s cut off by his own sob. “Minseok, I—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” the Talon interrupts instantly, and he pulls back enough so that Lu Han’s hand drops back down. “This is… this isn’t why I…” He can’t seem think of what to say any better than Lu Han can, looking momentarily put out as he tries to search for the words in Lu Han’s eyes like he will find them in there instead. They stand like this for what could have been hours in utter silence, the atmosphere between them so viscous that it feels like they’re breathing underwater. Lu Han watches as an expression of determination bleeds into the deep furrow of the elder’s brow, and he doesn’t look away from Lu Han’s eyes the entire time, remaining steadfast and straightening his back before he talks again.

“I have a confession,” the elder says, stepping back into Lu Han’s space. He reaches for Lu Han’s shoulders, his grip hard as if to keep the other in place, not that Lu Han was planning on moving anyway. A million different things run through the courtesan’s mind in this moment, taken aback by the change in subject but not averse to it either; he wouldn’t have known what to say anyway, tongue-tied as he had been. “I wanted to tell you when I saw you again all those years ago, but I… seeing what had happened to you in the time I was gone, I just…” he trails off, falling back into his thoughts.

“What is it?” Lu Han urges, voice coming out quieter than intended because of how anxious and curious he is. “What do you want to tell me?” Minseok’s grip tightens even harder on Lu Han’s shoulders, like he was trying to leave the imprints of his fingers on the courtesan’s skin. He doesn’t speak for a few minutes, eyes still locked with Lu Han’s as if he was suddenly unsure whether or not he should say it anymore.

But in the end, he continues anyway.

“I killed your father.”


	10. Part Nine: Burning Pages.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 7,865
> 
> **tw: rough sex**  
> Continues right where we left off in Shooting Stars.

“I see that you’ve received the robes I’ve sent you,” Wu Fan mentions casually as he trails bites along Yixing’s neck and jaw, the younger jerking with every drag of Wu Fan’s tongue against the smarting flesh to sooth the ache. Tears have gathered in the corners of Yixing’s eyes as Wu Fan continues to ruthlessly abuse the sensitive area with his teeth and lips, shaky little gasps escaping past the escort’s lips in bursts as he tries to keep himself together. The Dragon Head’s wide palm is wrapped around Yixing’s aching cock, slick with precum and oil as he pumps the smaller man at a pace so leisurely Yixing thinks he just might lose his mind. His hips twitch eagerly from even the slightest movement of those long fingers, his fried nerve endings going wild every time Wu Fan’s hot breath fans out against his neck. “I didn’t know what designs you would want so I just got everything.”

Yixing barely registers what Wu Fan is telling him, stuck between a mixture of mortification over his own reactions and excitement as he shudders with pleasure. He is so desperate in this moment and so high-strung since the last time he had been in contact with the other man that he can feel his climax closing in on him already, even with so little attention. “ _Please_ ,” Yixing chokes out in lieu of responding properly, fists curled so tightly into the lapels of the elder’s suit that his knuckles have gone completely white. Wu Fan seems to be taking great enjoyment from watching Yixing quiver and shake, crumbling effortlessly in his arms as his larger body traps Yixing’s between himself and the desk, but unexpectedly he complies with Yixing’s request. The Dragon Head only has to tighten his grip a little more around the sensitive head of Yixing’s cock to have the younger climaxing in heavy spurts all over himself, actually sobbing as he jerks up into the firm circle of Wu Fan’s fingers. The escort feels his entire body melt into a puddle, still trembling from the aftershocks but finally capable of taking in a ragged breath of air and relaxing completely against the shutters. After calming he notices the stack of books digging into his lower back, wincing as he attempts to readjust himself, before remembering that the Dragon Head is still here.

Now that Yixing is more clearheaded than before, he is immediately trapped like a bird in a cage when he hesitantly glances up to meet the elder’s gaze, startled by the proximity of their faces. Wu Fan is studying him closely with an amused expression like Yixing is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, a hint of something darker hidden in his eyes. The escort practically jumps off the table in shock when the Dragon Head presses a hand against Yixing’s abdomen without warning, making the younger flush with embarrassment when his own release makes the slide of Wu Fan’s palm against his skin slicker than before. He jolts in surprise yet again when Wu Fan runs his hand down over Yixing’s still sensitive cock—drawing a startled yelp—before finally reaching back down to his puckered entrance. Wu Fan presses two of his fingers against the opening insistently, and the fact that Yixing had touched himself almost everyday this past week because of how desperately he needed to be bedded again shows in the way Wu Fan’s long, oil-slick digits slide into him easily. They sink right down to the knuckle after only a few shallow thrusts, and Yixing bites back a gasp as his spent cock starts to twitch back to life.

The Dragon Head smirks like he knows just how badly Yixing craved his touch all this time, licking the corner of his lip in a confident gesture that leaves Yixing’s skin burning white-hot, hair raising on the back of his neck as syrupy flames drip down his spine. He wants to hide from that burning gaze even as he eagerly leans into the kiss Wu Fan presses against his panting mouth. The kiss is deeper this time, heady now that Yixing has already climaxed once, and he feels the simmer of a fiercer inferno starting up in the pit of his stomach. He’s hyperaware of everything now, of the expensive fabric of Wu Fan’s suit and the softness of the elder’s lips against his own. Wu Fan tastes like pricey cigars, smelling of luxurious cologne and a hint of something strangely metallic that lingers in his clothing. It takes a few long seconds for Yixing to recognize but when he finally does the scent triggers flashbacks of the Dragon Head stepping over the unmoving body of one of his own henchmen, a man that he’d remorselessly shot clean through the temple in front of everyone without a care, his black eyes trained on Yixing and Yixing only as he crouches in front of him with an intrigued look on his face.

 _Blood_.

The escort shudders in terror recalling the night they first met, even as he anxiously grasps onto Wu Fan’s solid body, teetering precariously on a tightrope strung between attraction and fear with nothing but darkness underfoot. Reality has a way of distorting around the Dragon Head, and perhaps that is why it is so difficult to understand his enigmatic behavior. It’s easy to forget when they’re alone, that Wu Fan is a man painted in crimson, that although his reputation may have been amplified by rumors, they are always grounded in reality one way or another. He wouldn’t have been able to keep his reign over this country’s underground for so long otherwise.

The evident smell of blood that clings to Wu Fan’s clothing is not something Yixing would dare to ever question, aloud or even in his own mind, but the panic it sends him into makes his heart race in double time, whimpering as he allows the _Duizhang_ to completely finish sliding off his robes. If the taller man notices these little reactions, he pays no mind to them, likely used to people fearing him to the point where he doesn’t care anymore, so instead Yixing focuses on every point that their bodies make contact. Wu Fan kisses Yixing hard and deep, unrelenting as he tilts the smaller man’s head further so that his tongue can deeper investigate the crevices of Yixing’s willing mouth. The seal of their spit-slick lips pressing together lasts longer and longer with every slide, until the only thing Yixing can focus on is remembering how to breathe. It’s better that way because then he can’t remember to be afraid, easily melting into the trap of Wu Fan’s warm body.

The Dragon Head removes his fingers and Yixing can barely contain the whine of displeasure, shifting his hips slightly in protest. However, without warning, the elder man slides his hands underneath Yixing’s trembling thighs, keeping him pressed up against his body as he easily lifts Yixing off the desk. Wu Fan swallows the breathless gasp of surprise that escapes the escort’s lips as he carries him to the bed. He doesn’t allow their mouths to part until he sits Yixing down on the edge of the mattress, stepping back just enough to observe the other carefully. Yixing flushes at the attention despite feeling dazed and a little lightheaded, cock half-hard between his legs again and lips feeling numb from how long they have been kissing. He feels cold from being separated so suddenly from the other, the self-consciousness making him lower his gaze.

“You are so beautiful,” Wu Fan compliments without even batting a lash, smirking coolly when Yixing looks startled. Yixing would disagree but his tongue is frozen, leaving him to gape at the other man. Wu Fan reaches out to cup Yixing’s cheek with one large hand, his thumb dragging over the swell of Yixing’s plump lower lip. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking right then, his charcoal eyes unreadable as he continues to study him, even as his smirk remains. The ambiguity frightens him, makes his stomach tighten apprehensively as his fingers curl into the blankets on either side of him. Yixing’s lips part without much thought when Wu Fan’s thumb lightly presses down, and the way the Dragon Head’s gaze darkens as he stares at them makes Yixing’s blush intensify. Wu Fan leans in close again and captures Yixing’s lips in another kiss, this time with even more vigor as he pushes the other backwards until he lies down on the bed. Yixing’s legs feel awkward dangling off the edge so he instinctively adjusts to wrap them around the Dragon Head’s waist, freezing for a moment when he realizes what he’s done. He feels Wu Fan’s chuckle against his mouth rather than sees it, heating up even more knowing that the elder finds his distress amusing. Yixing isn’t sure how he feels about that yet because the rapid beat of his heart could mean many things in the presence of someone like the Dragon Head.

The horror that had briefly quelled the flames in Yixing’s lower body dissipates with the feeling of Wu Fan’s long fingers digging into his thighs and spreading them further apart as he settles between them. Yixing figures right then that he shouldn’t concern himself with the happenings Wu Fan gets into outside of El Dorado anyway, considering that he’s just a prostitute. He should rather focus more on being a source of pleasure and relaxation for Wu Fan because that is the entire reason he was purchased to begin with, what all the gifts are for, why his education is actually being completed. The escort takes note that the Dragon Head is leaning over the bed and isn’t even on it, still dressed to the nines in his suit and tie, and Yixing feels a bit like a failure as Wu Fan’s courtesan for simply going along with the taller man instead of properly entertaining him the way a _real_ courtesan should do. Wu Fan doesn’t give Yixing room to think, his presence much too big for the entire brothel let alone this room, and Yixing really needs his head in order to initiate anything. In the end, with everything that Wu Fan does, everything that he says, Yixing simultaneously feels deathly afraid and captivated by him, never in between, and that is what keeps him from making any movements in case they turn out to be the wrong ones.

The Dragon Head doesn’t speak again until he has to whisper reassurances into Yixing’s ear, too preoccupied by the give of Yixing’s swollen lips against his as he presses his cock into the smaller man’s body. Yixing’s face twists in pleasure-pain, reliving their first time again, body tensing before he forces himself to relax and allow the intrusion to fill him to the brim. It feels bigger than he remembers, makes him choke on nothing but air when Wu Fan bottoms out inside of him, stuffing him so full that Yixing can’t remember how to use his lungs. It hurts just as bad as it did the first time if not worse because of the different position, but Yixing’s body betrays him as his entire form trembles violently in wanton excitement anyway, the tips of his fingers going numb as he digs them into the Dragon Head’s endless shoulders. He wants so much in that moment, wants to feel the ache in his body for weeks instead of just days so that it’ll last him longer, and a wrecked sob makes it out of his throat.

Wu Fan catches on immediately, those night black eyes hazy from pleasure glinting with intent as he pulls back to look Yixing in the eye. Yixing, who can barely keep himself together at this point, only whimpers in shame; he never used to be like this, greedy for pleasure in a way that makes his entire body burn up from the inside out. He feels exposed, an open book for the Dragon Head to read, obvious just how much Yixing has been waiting for him to return just for this very moment. That confident smirk returns at the cost of Yixing’s heartbeat, the escort feeling like his soul is being drawn out of his body when Wu Fan stops waiting for him to adjust. He doesn’t pause for Yixing to relax around his thick girth like last time, nor does he take it slow. He fucks hard into Yixing’s pliant body, long fingers leaving deep imprints around his thighs as he keeps them spread as far as possible, their lips connected as Wu Fan swallows each needy, sobbing moan. Yixing feels as if he’s being split into two, eyes rolling back in pleasure so strong he sees stars when he comes a second time, a third, and at the fourth his vision tunnels around the edges as a choked cry rips from his lungs and it all fades to black.

The last thing he remembers is the soft, petal-like kiss the Dragon Head plants against Yixing’s parted lips, murmuring evenly against the shell of his ear just before he leaves:

_“Disobey me again, and you will die.”_

 

x x x

 

Yixing sleeps until late in the afternoon that day and misses Lu Han by a hair’s breadth when the courtesan’s first client of the day arrives. The younger man can barely move, the sharp pain traveling up his spine nearly unbearable, especially when he walks, but still he tries. Yixing stumbles out of his room just in time to see Lu Han smiling sweetly at a court official, pressed against his side as they enter the Dawn Room. Yixing remembers that man, remembers Lu Han’s sleepy mumble against his cheek as he told him about the bureaucrat's stressful work where he feels unappreciated. It’s Lu Han’s job to soothe these sorts of aches, to fill in the cracks for the clients that come to see him, turning himself into what they need. Before the courtesan closes the doors behind him, their eyes catch from across the hall and the elder offers a small, knowing smile. Yixing grins back, his chest aching as he watches the doors shut. He knows that Lu Han will not be free until long after nightfall, except for the hour or so he has before his second client arrives when Yixing will be busy with his teachers and cannot leave, and the disappointment in knowing this makes the escort’s shoulders sag immediately.

When Yixing turns back around, he is startled to find that Xiumin staring at him. His blind, opaque eye is unnervingly focused on the escort as he makes his way back to his room. Even as Yixing approaches him the Talon doesn’t look away, only briefly when he bends to bow, and Yixing feels a prickle of intimidation travel up his spine when he instinctively returns the gesture. Immediately he flinches with pain when he bows back, forgetting how much his backside ached, and it makes his face feel too hot. “Good morning. The Dragon Head left a message for you,” Xiumin finally says when Yixing has simmered under his gaze long enough, the Talon crossing his arms over his chest. “He apologizes for interrupting your studies last night and hopes you can find it in your heart to forgive him.”

Yixing flushes immediately, remembering the book he’d abandoned on his desk. He can almost visualize Wu Fan’s amusement and the self-satisfied look on his face at successfully distracting him, even though Yixing didn’t really have a choice in the matter regardless. “I don’t know how to read it yet, anyway,” Yixing responds after a beat of awkward silence, looking down at his feet in embarrassment. He thinks the conversation is over when he opens the door to enter his room, but suddenly a strong hand keeps him in place and makes him yelp in surprise.

Although Yixing is afraid of Xiumin in the way he should be of any other gangster, there is something even more terrifying about him than all the others. He thinks the fear stems from the strange familiarity he feels when he sees Xiumin’s face, from being unsure where or how he recognizes the Talon. Xiumin however doesn’t seem to return the sentiment, and Yixing wonders if maybe he’s just imagining it. When Yixing glances over his shoulder, he finds that Xiumin is not even looking at him, but the grip he has on the escort’s arm is tight and unyielding. His breath catches when he notices the slight shake, eyes lifting to study the elder’s seemingly calm face. Xiumin looks as if he’s struggling with what he wants to say, like he isn’t even sure if he should be asking about it, and Yixing immediately knows that whatever he’s about to tell him is very important.

“Is he always so different with everyone?” the Talon questions just as suddenly as he grabbed him, speaking just under his breath but loud enough for Yixing to catch the words despite his accent.

For some reason, Yixing knows immediately that this conversation isn’t about the Dragon Head, and he bites the inside of his cheek for a few seconds before responding. “Who?” Instead of replying with words, Xiumin gestures ever so slightly with his head towards the Dawn Room, still refusing to look at Yixing even with how his grip tightens on the escort’s arm. Panic fills the cavity of Yixing’s chest as he struggles to choose the right words; what he says will affect Lu Han, and Yixing does not want to have that kind of control over a relationship his friend is trying so hard to patch together by himself.

Just as Yixing opens his mouth to reply, Ilwoon appears in his line of sight as she makes her way down the hall with a group of other servants, one of them carrying a large heap of folded cloth in their arms. “You’re awake!” she says, smiling brightly at him. Yixing flinches when Xiumin releases his arm without warning and returns to his position at the side of the door; the escort feels the blood finally returning to his fingers, but the relief he feels is short-lived when he knows that he never answered the elder’s question. Something tells Yixing that there won’t be a second chance.

“I was just about to come get you,” Ilwoon continues, not noticing the strangely tense atmosphere. “You have some new robes that need to be fitted.” Yixing panics a little at her words; even though Ilwoon has no illusions as to what the Dragon Head and him get up to in the room, it’s still embarrassing to expose his body and reveal the evidence of what transpired, especially after last night when Wu Fan was rougher than before. He has large bruises in the shape of fingers on his thighs, barely able to stand as it is, and a sharp pain shoots through his body with every small movement. Even still, Yixing waits for Ilwoon to arrive before following her and the other servants into the room. He only pauses briefly to glance back at Xiumin, but he is met only with the sight of the doors closing behind them and he sighs in both relief and regret.

As the day comes to a close, Yixing tries not to let today’s events weigh too heavily on his heart. Instead he focuses on the fact that Lu Han will at least be able to talk to him tonight, snuggled up to each other as Yixing finally narrates his second encounter with the Dragon Head. Yixing looks forward to it, the only thing on his mind as he attempts to read the same book he’d been working on last night. He still can’t actually read it, everything appearing jumbled and confusing, but he wants to try at least because Lu Han told him that the stories inside it are his favorite ones. Yixing had begged for his tutors to assign it to him despite the high difficulty, and even with the frustration he feels over the fact that no matter how long he stares at it he still cannot understand a full sentence, there is something so satisfying about holding it in hands and knowing that someday he _will_.

“‘Fate is like a book,’” he says aloud into the empty library, echoing what the Dragon Head read for him last night. Just repeating those words makes his heart race, absentmindedly tracing the strokes of each character with his fingernail as he remembers the heat of Wu Fan’s body against his back as he hovered over him last night at this very desk. Yixing notices how his hands tremble at the memory, face feeling too hot to concentrate all of a sudden before he buries it into the seam of the book to keep himself together. It’s embarrassing just thinking about the night before, so Yixing isn’t sure how he’ll be able to tell Lu Han everything without feeling like he’ll burst into flames. The escort remembers the last words Wu Fan said to him before leaving and there is a strange twist of emotion in Yixing’s gut as he closes his eyes and imagines the Dragon Head standing before him, towering over everything as he crosses his arms and watches Yixing with ominous amusement glowing in his charcoal eyes. Yixing has yet to run his thumbs over the furrow of those slanted eyebrows but he still imagines what it would feel like to smooth out the concentration in the _Duizhang’s_ face, to perhaps see heavy emotion bleed out of those eyes and onto Wu Fan’s face instead of the controlled expression he usually wears.

Yixing is just about to fall asleep right there when he hears the familiar creak of his door being opened, and the sound has him jolting up in his seat like he’d been shocked. He doesn’t know if he’s excited or scared as he stands up and turns at his desk, staring through the archway and into the connected dining room while holding his breath. It has to be Lu Han, Yixing thinks to himself even as he hears the familiar sound of leather shoes against the tiled floor. Wu Fan couldn’t be back for another visit so soon already. It hasn’t even been an entire day and Yixing knows better; after the first time, the Dragon Head had been gone for over a month, there was just no way— _and yet_.

Yixing’s blood races faster and faster in his veins the longer he waits, unsure what he should do. Whoever entered still hasn’t gone past the first room, lingering in the bedroom as if waiting for Yixing to make an appearance instead. It couldn’t be Lu Han, of this Yixing is more than sure because Lu Han would have come looking for him straightaway, calling out his name as he checked every room. The escort swallows thickly, still staying in place as a prickle of apprehension runs up his spine and spreads all the way down to the tips of his toes. If not the Dragon Head, who else could they be? Yixing has to remind himself that Xiumin is just outside his room and wouldn’t have let just anyone alone inside with him before he dregs up enough courage to even move a centimeter, carefully making his way out of the library and into the dining room. His fists are clenched tightly in his robes, lifting the expensive silk cloth so that it doesn’t rustle on the floor as he walks and give him away.

As quietly as he can, he peers around the archway in the dining room that faces out into the bedroom, just barely sticking out his head. His heart attempts to leap out of his throat, stomach falling dangerously when he sees none other than Wu Fan seated on the couch, one leg crossed over the other and arms crossed over his chest. Yixing has the perfect view of his side profile and he can’t help but try to study the taller man from afar before approaching him. Wu Fan’s eyes are closed and he’s dressed in a navy pinstripe today, black hair slicked back as usual and brows furrowed deeply in thought. He looks annoyed, or perhaps even angry. For a few seconds Yixing isn’t sure if he should interrupt or just head back into the library, but he decides that there must be a reason why the other man was here. However, before he gets a chance to decide his own fate, the Dragon Head makes the call for him.

“I can sense you staring at me,” Wu Fan suddenly says aloud, making Yixing squeak in surprise. His face turns red as he immediately shuffles out of the dining room to join the taller man, moving to stand next to the couch and looking anywhere but at the other’s face.

“I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to disturb…” Yixing stutters out as he approaches, biting down on his lower lip when he reaches the couch and sneaks another glance at Wu Fan. Yixing doesn’t realize that something is wrong until he finally notices the fresh slit of a knife breaking the skin on the Dragon Head’s neck, cutting clean through the sea dragon coiled around the iron triangle. It’s a fresh wound, skin puffy and bleeding as it slowly drips down his neck and stains the white collar. Yixing doesn’t know how to feel in that moment, breath caught in his lungs as he stares open mouthed at the wound. He can’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before, unable to process what he’s seeing.

“I discovered a traitor,” Wu Fan finally says after what feels like forever of Yixing just gaping at him in shock. The older man still hasn’t opened his eyes, still looking angry in a way Yixing isn’t sure he’s seen before. This kind of anger is different from a month ago in the hotel atrium, when he was chillingly calm, from the anger he showed when Yixing hadn’t answered his questions. This was a darker emotion; it was the murky black atmosphere that always seemed to hover Dragon Head was around, a warning that something dangerous was waiting, hidden away from sight, something absolutely terrifying. “He attempted to assassinate me.”

Still speechless, Yixing swallows thickly, stomach churning; even if he could talk he wouldn’t know what to say. “You know what I hate most in this world, Yixing?” the Dragon Head questions calmly after nearly ten minutes of tense silence, of Yixing holding his breath and keeping very still. Wu Fan is not showing any sign of emotion, not even a twitch of the brow or the downturn of the lips, and that is the most frightening thing of all to behold, almost like it isn’t a human addressing Yixing, but a monster.

When Yixing fails to respond immediately, the Dragon Head’s eyes open and glint so sharply in the flickering light of the fireplace that the escort feels as if someone shot a bullet between his eyes. Yixing’s blood runs cold as he fumbles for words as quickly as he can gather them, dropping his gaze instantly from Wu Fan’s. “N-No, my l-lord.”

“ _Disloyalty_ ,” the Dragon Head responds not even a beat later, voice coming out almost like a snarl. Yixing can feel Wu Fan’s charcoal eyes burning through him, as if attempting to scan Yixing’s insides and dig out whatever he can find, and it only makes the escort’s skin crawl in anxiety. Although this isn’t the first time Yixing has seen the Dragon Head seem angry, it’s the first time his displeasure has been indirectly focused on him. It doesn’t help that his expression is still frighteningly calm, watching Yixing carefully, and the only giveaway is the ire swimming in his eyes. Before Yixing can properly process the elder’s dark gaze, Wu Fan closes his eyes and releases a long breath from his nose. “I suppose it is unfair of me to take my irritation out on you when you’ve only committed a small mistake.”

After another few minutes of silence, Yixing’s body starts itching to do _something_. Yixing had known all along that Wu Fan was a fearsome man and that his emotions can change in the blink of an eye. Yixing had memorized the way he could go from unworried to commanding in seconds when Yixing wasn’t responding, how the Dragon Head could be careful with him but just as easily make him fall apart with an expert touch; he remembers the way he insisted on taking Yixing from Boa, and then the mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he startled the escort into the bath. Yixing is afraid of him but he’s always been afraid of him, and the fact that he is still alive right now instead of bleeding out on the floor right now is because the Dragon Head pities him. Yixing doesn’t like for him to be angry, more so at him even if it’s indirect, and decides to apologize the best way he knows how.

Before he can reconsider his split decision, Yixing steps closer to the Dragon Head and drops to his knees with a quiet thud. It’s a suggestive gesture, and it foretells exactly what Yixing has planned, but it is also the first time he’s initiating something with the older man. Wu Fan’s eyes open immediately at the moment and he watches Yixing curiously, gaze following the escort’s movements as he crawls into the space between Wu Fan’s legs. Yixing does not dare to look back at the older man as he licks at his lips, catching the lower one between his teeth before letting it slip out. “I-I’m sorry, m-my lord,” he stutters out, tucking a stray lock of curly hair behind his ear as he inches in closer. “P-Please, if y-you would a-a-allow….” His hands shake as he carefully places them on the Dragon Head’s thighs, finally permitting his gaze to flit up briefly before shifting even closer. Nevertheless, when his eyes meet Wu Fan’s, he can’t look away from them, hypnotized by the charcoal black that stared back into the escort’s soul.

Yixing’s concentration breaks and he flinches when the Dragon Head’s hand suddenly moves to wind into the hair on the top of Yixing’s head, dragging him in with silent approval. His roots already begin to ache but his heart is racing so hard that he barely even notices it. Yixing doesn’t need any other indication of consent before his trembling fingers are expertly undoing Wu Fan’s belt buckle, pulling out the elder’s flaccid cock from the confines of his slacks. Even when soft the Dragon Head’s cock is large, utterly lewd in comparison to Yixing’s slender fingers as they wrap shakily around the thick shaft, and his mouth waters a little despite the fact that his backside is still hurting from last night. The Dragon Head remains silent, watching Yixing with an almost lazy curiosity. His grasp in Yixing’s hair tightens just a bit when the younger laps at the cockhead with his tongue, sucking the bulbous tip into his mouth.

The task proves to be a lot more difficult than Yixing originally thought it would be, especially when at full hardness Wu Fan is much larger than his mouth could possibly take. He gags more than a few times, lips stretched obscenely wide around the girth, but the Dragon Head’s hand keeps him from moving back too much. Sweat is dripping down Yixing’s temple, face completely red as muffled whimpers manage to slip out of his mouth despite being stuffed full; he’s hard himself, unbearably aroused from the way Wu Fan continues to stare down at him so attentively, the only hint of encouragement glowing in the back of his dark eyes, but it’s more than enough for Yixing. He continues to take more and more of Wu Fan into his mouth until he gags at the feeling of the Dragon Head’s dick hitting the back of his throat. There is still so much of him left and Yixing uses his saliva to pump what he can’t fit with his hands, bobbing his head and moaning around his cock. Yixing’s eyes tear up when the Dragon Head thrusts into his mouth a few times before pulling out, the escort gasping for air as he practically falls forward into the _Duizhang’s_ lap.

Yixing is still panting, dazed as he reminds himself how to breathe, when Wu Fan pulls Yixing up onto the couch to straddle his lap. The escort only realizes belatedly that he should have removed his robes before he started because now the expensive fabric was complete a mess, sliding off his shoulders and exposing his chest; the only thing keeping it on his body is the tight sash around his waist. He feels disoriented being this close to the Dragon Head’s face again after becoming well acquainted with his cock; despite the arousal painting his features, Wu Fan continues to look somber, brows furrowed and dark eyes still on Yixing. They never left the escort’s face to begin with, watching him so carefully that Yixing had almost forgotten to be self-conscious, and the burning heat under his skin accelerates into a blazing firestorm.

The escort braces himself when Wu Fan dips his fingers into the oil pot on the side table, biting hard into his already tender lip as long fingers prod at his entrance. He whimpers when pain surges through his body, but it becomes more and more bearable the longer the Dragon Head rubs his fingers against him. Because of the night before Yixing is still very loose and it doesn’t take much more than a few slick fingers stretching him wide open before Wu Fan is guiding Yixing’s hips over to his cock. The blunt, wet tip presses against his sensitive hole and Yixing cries out immediately, sobbing as he pushes back against it so that he engulfs the leaking head inside of his body. Wu Fan’s grip on Yixing’s hips tighten, those dark eyes narrowing slightly as a spark of pleasure finally cuts through the solid wall of his emotions and shows itself; his grip constricts further just before he pushes himself inside the rest of the way through, dragging a wrecked moan out of the courtesan’s sore throat.

The throbbing pain is only an afterthought at this point, and Yixing is unable to focus on anything but the exquisite feeling of being filled up again. His blood is racing in his ears and his heart is about to force it’s way out of his mouth, breaths coming out short and stilted as he tries to hold onto himself this time unlike the last. It doesn’t last long when the Dragon Head is still looking right into his eyes, fucking up into his body and making Yixing lose his mind completely to the intensity of it. It’s frightening to be at the mercy of someone like the Dragon Head, Yixing now at his most vulnerable while Wu Fan completely unravels every last bit of him. He’s so scared but he can’t resist, can’t help but beg for more, opening himself and throwing every last piece of himself at the elder’s feet. Yixing doesn’t know what more the Dragon Head could want from him when Yixing had given him everything from the very start, from the very first time he grabbed Yixing’s arm and promised not to harm him.

When Yixing orgasm, he screams, body tensing up and then going completely limp; barely anything comes out of him, already wrung dry from the previous night. Wu Fan follows almost immediately after, holding the escort in place as he climaxes and makes the younger whimper. Yixing is trembling so hard that he can’t even hold onto Wu Fan’s suit jacket properly, barely able to think straight with how fuzzy his mind is now; the Dragon Head was like an intense drug, and having so much of him in such a short time span is driving Yixing insane. Yixing continues to rest against the Dragon Head’s large body, heart racing a mile a minute as he tries to pull himself back together again.

“I hope you do not have any illusions as to how I feel about you,” Wu Fan suddenly says aloud, the rumble in his voice traveling through Yixing’s aching body in the form of vibrations. “I do not believe in mercy or affection. I only picked you because I found you interesting, and now I own you. I assume you remember what I said to you last night?”

This is the part where Yixing should be surprised, except that he isn’t. Tears spill down his cheeks so suddenly he doesn’t have time to stop them, sobbing quietly into the Dragon Head’s shoulder. Yixing has known all along that he wasn’t special, but something about the sound of Wu Fan’s solemn voice tells him that those words were supposed to wound him. He’s heard much worse. “Y-You didn’t k-kill me,” Yixing replies quietly instead when he calms. “T-Thank you.”

Wu Fan jolts slightly, so slightly that Yixing would not have noticed if they weren’t pressed up against each other like this. He hadn’t expected that answer.

 

x x x

 

The following day Boa is back at the El Dorado and Yixing immediately becomes busy. He sleeps early because his tutors come in the mornings instead now so that he can spend the afternoons continuing his courtesan training with the Madame. She is a strict, relentless teacher, and is much less forgiving than Ilwoon, who had taken over for Boa during the Madame’s lengthy business trip a few cities away from Seoul. Ilwoon had been much more sympathetic and easy on him during the month when the Dragon Head hadn’t shown any signs of returning, assuming like everyone else that Wu Fan wouldn’t be revisiting anytime soon. However, now that Wu Fan actually came by two days in a row, Boa returned quickly to double check Yixing’s training. As expected, she’d been less than thrilled to find Yixing still completely lacking, scolding both him and Ilwoon for their negligence.

“What would people say if they knew that the Dragon Head was being served by a slipshod prostitute at a supposedly high-class establishment?” she questioned them furiously, eyes ablaze and hands on her hips. “We’d be a laughing stock!” Now the Madame scrutinizes his training personally and Yixing has no choice but to listen to her with rapt attention because she will only leave Ilwoon to see to his training again when the older woman sees fit. If they fail to satisfy the next time she returns from a trip, Ilwoon will be in much more trouble than Yixing, but as he has grown rather fond of her he decides on striving to try harder. Even without that particular motivation, Yixing wants to improve anyway. Like the others, he had assumed that Wu Fan wouldn’t return, and now he is mortified by how incompetent he felt when every time the Dragon Head so much as looked at him, all he could do was cry and whimper.

Wu Fan continues to send in new clothes for him daily without fail, as well as a book every now and again that Yixing still cannot read. He spends his evenings studying after training so that he can eventually learn to read them, practicing until he finally passes out from exhaustion; the cycle repeats this same way for the rest of the week, and Yixing is left feeling like his head is underwater. Wu Fan doesn’t return the next day or even the day after that, and despite the fact that Yixing was finally able to relax, a part of him wonders when the Dragon Head would return to see him now that he was no longer out of the country. Yixing can’t even listen in on rumors now that he is locked up in his room all the time, and Xiumin keeps a tight watch on him no matter the time of day.

Every time Yixing thinks about whether or not Wu Fan is still angry with him, goose bumps rise on his skin. Although Yixing still ached all over from the last encounter, he much prefers the crueler version of the Dragon Head because at least that behavior was expected. Yixing is used to rough hands and forced pleasure, not compassion or being taken care of, and they don’t leave him feeling undeserving and confused the way kindness seems to. What did he ever do to warrant attention from someone like the Dragon Head? It’s something that he still just can’t wrap his around; despite the fact that Wu Fan has already bedded him several times now, the fact that it even happened is so illogical that when Yixing is alone, it feels like everything was just a faraway delusion.

Except this time, Yixing doesn’t have an entire month to wonder if he just dreamed everything. Just when everyone thinks the week will be over quietly, Yixing is woken up to Ilwoon shaking him with a very frantic expression plastered on her normally smiling face. “Yixing!” she whispers, shaking him harder. “Yixing, you need to wake up! The Dragon Head has come to see you!”

Yixing doesn’t need to be told twice, sleep escaping him immediately as he sits up in shock. “W-What?” he gasps, pulse racing and body trembling as Ilwoon helps him out of bed. “Why?” The previous two times Wu Fan came to see him, he’d walked right through the double doors of the El Dorado and asked to be guided straight to the Dragon Room without any fanfare; this time however, everyone was in a panic as servants flooded into his room, followed up closely by the Madame who looks just about ready to burst a blood vessel. She is practically seething as she directs the servants to scrub Yixing down in the bath before dressing and grooming him so that he looks pleasing to the eyes. They even bring out the really expensive robes—the ones with the printed and dyed fabric that Wu Fan himself had imported from overseas—and jewelry, setting his hair with glass ornaments. Yixing isn’t sure why he needs this much arrangement considering that Wu Fan has already seen his unprepared state before, when he was a regular prostitute in his cotton work robes that first time, and then the other two times when he was in his loungewear.

“He’s taunting me,” Boa hisses as she inspects the servants’ work, pulling at the sleeves of his robes so that the clothing exposed more of his shoulders and chest. She tightens his sash so much that Yixing squeaks, and Ilwoon cringes for him when their eyes make contact from behind Boa. “I _told_ him he had his pick of any of our finest courtesans, but instead he picks you! He comes unannounced knowing that you are untrained, sneering like it’s some sort of great joke, and now suddenly he wants you in an entertainment room? Well we’re going to show him just how well our training has been going, won’t we?” She continues to grumble as she lifts the hem of Yixing’s robe and checks to see if he’s been prepared—he hasn’t—and nearly screams bloody murder. She stares Yixing down when she hands him a pot, daring him to stain the robes with oil as he stretches himself as quickly as possible in the bathroom while a roomful of people wait on him just outside.

Despite the sudden notice, Yixing is ready in less than an hour because this is exactly what he’s been training for this entire week. The reality is that Yixing should have been primed like this every single time the Dragon Head came to see him, but Wu Fan has never given them a chance to prepare. He normally just comes in all of a sudden completely unannounced, not allowing anyone to redirect him or stop him, however this time he actually gave a proper warning. This is most likely because he knows that the Madame is back and unless he wants to be the cause of her premature heart attack, he’s playing nice.

Because Yixing didn’t really understand what Boa was saying earlier, he is surprised when they start leading him outside the room. He thought he would wait on the couch or the bed for Wu Fan to be lead to the room, but instead he feels bile burning his throat when Boa leads him down the North Wing to the main staircase of the brothel. He looks helplessly at Ilwoon, who give him a supportive smile. “The Dragon Head wishes to see you in the entertainment room today,” she tells him, and Yixing’s heart stops. He can barely do anything in front of Wu Fan, let alone with an audience watching him, and the blood drains out of his face as he is led downstairs for the first time in a long time. Yixing doesn’t even register the people watching them or talking about them as they make their way through the brothel and into the hotel atrium, passing through the casinos and heading towards the largest entertainment room in the entire establishment.

Because it had been so long since Yixing was down here, everything feels surreal to him. On his right is Boa, who is personally coming to deliver him, and on his left is Xiumin, who is protecting him; they are surrounded by all the servants that helped ready him, keeping him mostly out of sight of the Wu Fong members milling about, although it is plenty obvious what is going on. Yixing is having an out of body experience the entire time, just barely keeping it together as his entourage approach the large, towering doors that hold just behind them the most powerful man in the country.

Like this—with the impersonal feeling of the situation, the reality of their disparity in rank—Yixing is more afraid of Wu Fan than ever before. It’s the kind of fear that makes him nauseous, unable to breathe properly as he tries not to hyperventilate, but as usual he isn’t given time to catch up before Boa is pushing open the doors. Immediately, Yixing is greeted with the sight of the Dragon Head seated on the couch at the opposite side of the room. Despite the distance between them and all the strange emotions twisting inside Yixing’s gut, the escort’s entire body heats up when the _Duizhang’s_ focus falls on him immediately, his throat going dry as a mischievous smirk pulls at the corner of Wu Fan’s mouth. No one says a single word, as if everyone is holding their breath; Yixing can’t seem to focus on anything other than the Dragon Head, hypnotized by those dark eyes, almost like there was no one else in the room.

He’s so utterly, completely, unbearably, _terrified_ of him.

And yet, when Wu Fan lifts his arms in invitation, Yixing goes to him without hesitating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My university classes started up again! I already know I'm not the most timely of updaters but I'll try my best not to surpass two weeks between updates. There are only four more parts left until the ending anyway, or maybe six depending on how long they get. I wonder what will happen... (Of course I already know, but I'm curious about what you guys think, hehe.) Also, I probably won't make anymore chapter drawings until after I finish the fic due to time constraints. :(
> 
> For those who are curious, Ad Nauseam has reached 66,000+ words now!!!! x_x The longest fic I've ever written before this was was ~28,000 so I'm honestly amazed. Thanks for sticking around and being patient with me -- all the compliments and kind words really inspire me to write a lot! You guys probably don't realize just how much your comments have influenced this fic, but they really do. See you all soon!


	11. Intermission: Grim Cycles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 1,588

It is common knowledge that all secrets have codes.

They can be in the form of riddles, puzzles, epithets, you name it; these codes are little details that are sometimes so insignificant, so camouflaged, that you’ll miss them if you blink too long. They are used to throw off curious dogs and watchful eyes trailing behind them, trying to wheedle their way inside. In the Red Light District, if you wanted anything done, codes were a must. Some of the darkest secrets were in the most obvious of places, if only you know where to look, what words to say, and who to say them to. Other times they are hidden away under a mask of questions and a metaphorical brick wall so high, you’ll never think to climb it.

Another common knowledge is that there are no rules in the underground. The only enforced rules are those of the gangs littering the streets at night, sneering at you from the dark alleyways with bottles of alcohol in one hand and weapons in the other. That didn’t mean that the government didn’t try at some semblance of control, and even if it was just for show eighty percent of the time, it was the twenty percent that you had to look out for. Those twenty percent are the ones that break down doors and confiscate drugs and money, costing gangs millions upon millions of dollars on the daily. They are the ones arresting cronies and frontrunners alike, locking them up behind bars forever, but more importantly, they are the ones sniffing out the _cycles_.

No one ever talks about the cycles.

Slave trading is illegal, that much is obvious. Purchasing slaves is a different matter because at that point slaves are property, but in trades they are almost always regular people. They are people who were either captured or sold against their will, treated like animals for a temporary amount of time before they being administered off to another handler and traded off yet again. In trades, you work for a client at a set term, normally a week, before returning to a handler who ships you off to another work location.

Cycles are normally split into groups, but groups are often sectioned off even more in auctions between other handlers, so you can never get to know anyone for long before you are parted into new cycles. This is commonly known as the “shuffling system,” where some slaves can work at a certain destination for weeks, while others only days. It is a given in the cycles that if you don’t see someone again after a few months of rotations, they are most likely dead; new faces are very common in the cycles.

And like all dirty secrets of the underground, the cycles are the biggest one.

 

x x x

 

Minseok never fashioned himself a murderer, but there was nothing more satisfying that the blood of his master pooling at his knees, soaking into his dirty, torn trousers. It had been almost hypnotizing, watching the true terror slowly ebb out of the man’s hazel eyes as Minseok stabbed him over and over in the chest, forearms streaked with red and body splattered with it. He’d been maniacal in that moment, giddy laughter bubbling up in his throat, shaking even as he sunk the knife between the man’s eyes and stayed in place as he stared down to look at what he’d done. They say he was possessed by a demon, and when Minseok looks back on it he feels not a single drop of regret, so he reasons that the gossips were not unfounded.

All he could remember from that day were the way the lashes on his back burned like someone had poured acid down his shirt, scraping agonizingly against the rough fabric of his clothing. The wounds were inflamed and bleeding a ghoulish mixture of blood and pus, and he shouldn’t have been able to move, let alone stab his master seventy-three times—he’d counted each blessed press of the blade into the bastard’s body—but the amount of power surging through his veins with a knife in his hands was immeasurable. His master had been cruel to him for too many long years, taking out his anger on the youngest slaves he owned, beating him and raping him since he was thirteen just as he did with so many others; after what occurred just only the day before, held down and lashed half to death for daring to steal from the kitchen and feed the younger slaves, Minseok was only returning the favor.

It takes another monster to kill one.

He was arrested when a maid walked in and saw Minseok sitting on the dead body, the knife in his hands, motionless, as if possessed. He was drenched in both of their blood as he looked into the lifeless eyes of the _real_ monster; he memorized their color, their shape, his face, every little detail burning into the back of his skull so that he will never forget. Minseok didn’t even fight when they came for him; he’d been so emaciated then, only seventeen and injured so terribly you couldn’t recognize him at first glance. Unsurprisingly, he was treated better in jail than he was in any other place, not since his family was murdered in a kidnapping and he was put up for sale. They gave time to heal the lash wounds on his body, keeping him in containment under the watchful eyes of doctors as he spent nearly a year in and out of a coma. By the time he was out, the scars were painful to look at, permanent reminders of a war he’d fought for the entirety of what was supposed to be his childhood, and although they couldn’t save his eye, he was alive.

Minseok was twenty-two when _they_ came. Gangbangers flooded the prison from all directions, slaughtering the officers and picking out a handful of inmates from their cells to be sold into cycles. He remembers the hesitation in one of the men’s eyes when they saw him; five years in jail under a life sentence had changed him. The other inmates stayed clear of him when the rumors of what he’d done reached their ears, the disfigurations on his skin serving as a threat, and Minseok had spent the solitude building up his body and strength. He was going to break himself out one way or another, despite not having a plan… at least until the gang came. Minseok was young and in the ripest age for slavery—they couldn’t have left him even if they tried.

So, they cuffed his hands behind his back and chained him up with all the others, yanking them out of the building and hustling them through the surrounding forests to their temporary post. Minseok didn’t spend too long in the cycles; he slept on the harsh gravel alongside the rest of the slaves and went through a handful of rotations, working silently as anger slowly boiled in his chest. Why should he end up back as a slave after everything he’d been through? He’d felt the power of killing a man, felt the blood squelching between his fingers with every stab of the knife; he couldn’t die here, not after surviving hell. So he left them the same way he left the manor in Goyang. He slaughtered them. With every man he killed, he imagined the Monsieur’s death, and the sheer exhilaration he felt was like no other.

Nevertheless, what goes up must come down. After escaping the cycles, Minseok had joined a street gang, killing for fun and threatening establishments, drunk for half of it and delirious the rest. They called him a monster, just a nickname at first before it became a code for him, whispered among the street vermin who steered clear whenever he passed, knowing not to cross him lest they wanted their blood splattered across the pavement. But like all monsters, they never fit in for long. After a mistake from his unit that cost the life of the gang frontrunner's son, Minseok’s stomach was slit open, a wound that would have been immediately fatal had it cut any deeper, but it was enough to render him helpless. They left him to bleed out in an alleyway like others before him, abandoned, the gang tattoo on his bicep ruthlessly burned off. While on his back, he stared up at the stars and imagined himself sinking through the concrete ground and falling into hell.

That was when he saw God.

Or was it the Devil?

The ethereal being was endlessly tall, a cigar between his slightly parted lips and hands buried deep into the pockets of his suit. In the darkness he was only a black silhouette, and yet he still oozed power like no other being Minseok had seen before. For a while the Devil just stared down at the dying man, as if contemplating his next move, wondering if Minseok was worth wasting a breath for. It was terrifying; Minseok hadn’t felt this kind of terror in a long time, not after the Monsieur died, and then some.

After what felt like forever, the former slave hanging on a thread between life and death, the Devil finally addressed him. His Korean was heavily accented but when he spoke, voice low and words ever so careful, Minseok had no trouble understanding.

“Do you want to live?”

Five words.

Just five words, and Xiumin was born.


	12. Part Ten: Moon Phases.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 5,721

“I killed your father.”

Everything stills as soon as the words leave the Talon’s mouth. Lu Han stares back at Minseok with wide, confused eyes, blinking slowly and wondering if he somehow misheard. It couldn’t be.

“You… what?” Lu Han questions, his voice barely coming out as a whisper. Time seems frozen as Lu Han tries to grasp what the older man just revealed to him, but he honestly can’t believe what he’s just heard, fearing that his ears were damaged when he got shot and are now playing tricks on him. To Lu Han, the existence of his father was like a guillotine waiting to fall on his neck. The Monsieur was a demon lying in wait, something monstrous and immortal, imminent, hiding out in the darkness for its moment to emerge and seize everything. It was hard to imagine someone who incited so much terror and anxiety upon Lu Han since the day he was born to simply be _gone_. Murdered, no less, by _Minseok_. Nightmares don’t just go away like that, not the kinds of nightmares Lu Han has—the ones that are so rooted in reality that he’s just as afraid to be awake as he is to be asleep.

“I _killed_ him,” Minseok reiterates after a few seconds of hesitation, but his voice is firm with conviction. “Your father is dead.” The Talon’s expression shows no trace remorse, as if daring Lu Han to say something against him. As if he ever would; they both know more than anyone else that Lu Han is better off knowing that the demon who plagued so much of his life is dead, never to return and haunt his reality again. Still the information is simply too much to take in all at once, but there is no other way to be told something like this anyway. Lu Han suddenly feels too weak to stand, lightheaded as he drops to his knees instead. He stares down at the floor between his palms, gaping down at it as his mind tries to process the information. It’s a ridiculous belief but Lu Han never thought his father _could_ die. How could someone so evil, so horrible, so full of hatred... die?

“W-What… what happened?” Lu Han chokes out when he finds his voice after what seems like hours of dead silence. He has no idea what else say, how to feel, or if he should feel anything at all. He hasn’t seen his father in years, after all. After the Kwon family took over the El Dorado, Lu Han hadn’t had to see or live with him, but there were others who had to face his wrath in place of Lu Han. When he looks back up at Minseok, the other hasn’t moved a single inch, still looking down at the courtesan as if assessing his reaction. From this angle the Talon’s scars catch the low light and appear ghastly and pale against skin that was tanned from outside labor. Lu Han swallows thickly at the sight of them, feeling like he’s seeing them again for the first time. He didn’t even consider it before, but the more he thinks about it the more he realizes that only his father could be cruel enough to treat a human being so much like vermin that he changes their entire life. With a shaky hand, Lu Han gestures to the scars on Minseok’s body before as he speaks. “Is it because of… those?”

Minseok stays silent for a few beats, expression completely unreadable at this point. “There were many reasons why, Lu Han,” he explains with a deep sigh, turning away to pick up his shirt from the floor. “I killed him years ago, long before I joined the Wu Fong.” He takes his time redressing, and Lu Han isn’t sure if he’s dragging this out on purpose or if he just didn’t want to speak to Lu Han any longer.

When Minseok doesn’t continue talking, Lu Han dares to voice out another question instead. “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this now?” the courtesan asks, staring up imploringly at Minseok. He looks into his eyes when he speaks, hoping to find the hidden secrets there, but they just seem so closed off now compared to how they were just a few minutes ago. It was like speaking to a brick wall. “Why not before? Why at all?”

There is a flash of irritation in Minseok’s gaze when their eyes meet so he closes them instead, as if the Talon needs to calm himself down, and Lu Han feels a sharp pain in his chest. “Get off the floor, Lu Han,” Minseok responds instead, chiding, as if he was speaking to a particularly insolent child.

Startled by this change, Lu Han jolts back as if he’d been slapped; he feels the phantom sting of it burn on his cheek. “What?”

“I can’t speak to you when you look up at me so pathetically like that,” Minseok growls out, and he’s so angry all of a sudden that Lu Han can’t keep up with the pace. When he doesn’t stand fast enough, Minseok grabs his upper arm and easily lifts him up instead, practically dragging him to the couch and pushing him onto it. The older man doesn’t seat himself, taking a few steps away from Lu Han and dragging his fingers through his hair, mussing it up, watching Lu Han struggle to readjust himself on the cushions with the corner of his eye. Minseok looks as if he has something to say but is physically holding himself back from saying it; Lu Han can tell it’s bothering him a lot just by looking at him, which is saying something considering that the Talon is almost always closed off.

“Minseok, _please_ ,” Lu Han begs, and he hates the tears that well up in his eyes because he knows Minseok will only be more discouraged by them, but Lu Han can’t help the frustration building up inside of him. “Tell me what’s going on with us. I just… I don’t understand what’s happening.” Minseok isn’t looking at him anymore but it’s obvious that he’s gathering his thoughts, so Lu Han waits.

“I don’t know if you can even remember, but,” the Talon finally begins, taking a deep breath. “Your mother was an empty shell of a person. She lived in that little room all alone, pretending everything was fine, like she was still a child. I was so afraid you would become like her, and for years I thought that once your father left, once he was gone from your life for good, that you’d be fine, that you’d leave this wretched place when you were old enough to think for yourself and live happily outside of these goddamned walls.” Minseok finally looks at Lu Han then, his brows furrowed and making an unreadable expression again as he studies Lu Han so carefully it makes the courtesan’s skin prickle. “But when I returned years later, I found not you, but an exact replica of your mother in her place.”

Lu Han’s stomach immediately drops at his words, his throat tightening so much that he can barely breathe, let alone speak. “I am not my mother,” Lu Han chokes out immediately, tasting bile. His fists clench tightly into his night robes, as if that would keep him from trembling. It’s the first time Lu Han has felt such intense displeasure in being told that he was similar to his mother. He’s no fool; he’s known all along that his mother was never in her right mind. She never left her room and acted like Lu Han was someone else’s son, not her own. She disassociated herself from reality so that she could cope and save herself, so in turn Lu Han had done the same for her, pretending that she was fine and that she truly loved him. But deep inside, Lu Han knew that a mother wouldn’t sit around knowing that her son was starving to death. A mother would never watch her own child get dragged out of the room by his hair, kicking and screaming and crying for her, begging for her to stop them from taking him away and hurting him.

Lu Han knew all of this. He’s always known. But pretending it wasn’t true had always been so much easier; his mother had it down to an art, and she was so, so good at acting happy—so why couldn’t Lu Han have that kind of happiness, too? Who cares if it wasn’t real? If he fooled himself enough the way she did then over time, he would truly start to believe it. But now, he has to face reality. If he wants Minseok to stay and stop looking down at him, to stop treating him like he’s less than human, then he can’t keep fantasizing, no matter how much it hurts him.

“I am Lu Han. I am not her,” Lu Han repeats, louder this time. His voice is shaking and Minseok’s expression is still so frustratingly unreadable that Lu Han wants to scream. He doesn’t stop himself, for once. “Please, say something!”

“There isn’t anything left to say!” Minseok exclaims back, hand gripping tightly around one of the many clay pots of medicines on the table. “I killed your father and never looked back! Meanwhile you changed into everything I ever hated about being here!”

“What do you mean by that?” Lu Han demands, standing up as well. He feels so winded, the raging storm of anger and pain and sadness feeling too much for his body too handle. It needed to come out, but he was so afraid of it, afraid of how human and pathetic it made him feel. “I changed to survive, just like you did!” Once the words are out Lu Han bites his lip to stop himself from speaking because he knows that the words aren’t true. Minseok obviously knows as well because he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he steps closer to Lu Han and jabs him in the chest with the pot.

“No, you didn’t. You’re letting this place consume you, the way it did her,” Minseok snarls. “Look at you! Is there any Lu Han even left inside of you? The only times I recognize you are when you’re screaming from the nightmares! That’s the Lu Han I saved from the wardrobe, the one I carried to the hospital wing for years! The way you are now… you’re nothing more than your mother.”

The truth of his words sinks in like venom and tears spill down Lu Han’s cheeks, pushing his hands against Minseok’s chest and turning away. “I didn’t have a choice,” Lu Han mutters, feeling too exhausted and attacked as he looks away. He hugs himself as he speaks; his lips burn from chewing them raw, and he can taste blood. “I’ve never left this place before and I don’t think I ever can, not unless I die.”

Minseok grabs Lu Han’s shoulder suddenly, pulling him and forcing him to turn around. Their gazes meet immediately and Lu Han is trapped by the sharpness in Minseok’s seeing eye, how it studies Lu Han’s own eyes as if searching for something. Minseok looks calm now, apologetic even. “Whenever you change yourself to become like your mother and I look into your eyes…” he begins, voice lowering to disgust as he spits out the next words, throwing the pot onto the floor where it smashes into a million clay shards. “I see your goddamn father instead. You have his exact same eyes and it makes me nauseous.”

Lu Han’s breath catches in his lungs, their eyes still connected. His ears ring from the sound of the pot shattering on the floor, but he heard Minseok clearly regardless. “Is this… is that why you hate me?” he wonders aloud, and Minseok doesn’t look away when he replies.

“I… I know it’s not very fair,” he says, and he truly looks regretful. “I hate that you let this place change you at the first sign of comfort. Even when you were starving to death and terrified of crossing paths with your father, you had this hopeful expression in your eyes that gave me strength. You don’t have that anymore. It’s like you want to die.”

“So will you kill me, too?” Lu Han asks, because he needs to know. “Do you wish I died before I became like this?”

Minseok finally looks away, his shoes crushing the shards on the floor against the tile. “I don’t know,” he replies, and Lu Han’s stomach sinks.

“You don’t… you don’t know?” Lu Han feels like he shouldn’t be as disappointed by the answer as he actually is. He’s known all along that Minseok hated him, just like he knows that Minseok can’t help but feel sexually attracted him. Lu Han hasn’t learned his lesson at all, deluding himself into believing in some form of sick romance between the two of them that never actually existed.

“I don’t want to,” Minseok amends, careful with his words as he meets Lu Han’s gaze again. If the Talon sees the hurt swimming in them, he does not care to mention it. “I’m not the person I used to be before Goyang, Lu Han. What happened while I was there, it… it destroyed me the same way this place destroyed you.”

They stand in front of each other for what seems like forever, as if years could pass by and still enough couldn’t be said to fill up the trench between them. “So why do you allow me to pull you in?” Lu Han whispers softly, voice cracking a little. “If you hate me so much, why don’t you just push me away?”

Minseok doesn’t answer him. Instead he soundlessly picks Lu Han up as if he’d never even spoken, protecting his bare feet from the broken clay pieces on the floor and carrying him to the bed. He’s careful when he places Lu Han on the mattress, expression angry again, or maybe just frustrated. It’s hard to tell when it’s still so dark and Lu Han can’t help more tears from spilling down his cheeks.

“Don’t be kind if you don’t love me,” Lu Han pleads, voice soft even as he cries. His chest feels like it’s bleeding from the inside, his body hollowed out and filled up with all the pieces of clay now littering the floor. “Don’t give me even the smallest drop of kindness, _please_.” Even as he speaks, Lu Han grips tightly onto Minseok’s shirt, still unbuttoned, not letting go as he wrenches him near. Lu Han truly was the master of destroying himself, and it only proves to be painfully true when he pulls Minseok down and connects their lips; Minseok doesn’t resist, eyes still intense and indecipherable, and Lu Han melts against him, fitting the Talon between his thighs like two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit but did the job nonetheless.

No one in the world could hurt Lu Han the way Lu Han could hurt himself. He was his own greatest enemy.

 

x x x

 

The small room is quiet as Dr. Do checks Lu Han’s side, brows furrowed as he examines the bruised area with his steady fingers. He presses against the tender flesh, taking note of Lu Han’s involuntary wince, but mostly the lack of pain the courtesan now feels ever since the stitches were removed, which is a good sign. The wound has healed shut now, leaving behind a pale scar that Dr. Do had assured to Lu Han would disappear eventually over time. It wouldn’t do for a courtesan of Lu Han’s caliber to be blemished in any way; he was supposed to appear ethereal, a dreamlike reprieve from reality to his high-profile customers, untouchable to everyone that wanted him yet at the same time within reach of those who could afford him.

That was Lu Han’s entire image: a piece of heaven on Earth. It was what was advertised under the pictures of his kind smile, what was promised in his mirthful eyes in hundreds of paintings and posters all over the country. This notion was a paradox in itself and obviously just for the sake of El Dorado’s public view of him, especially after he’d gotten shot and proved his mortality. The reality is that Lu Han is human through and through, no matter what people say. He is fragile and breathing and so painfully fallible, and yet it seems like Dr. Do is the only one who cares to mention this fact aloud. The doctor’s shoulders are heavy from the struggle of physician who knows best for his patients but still goes mostly unheard regardless; it’s a special kind of torment that Lu Han is grateful to never have to personally experience.

“I’d much rather you rest for another month,” Kyungsoo finally says with an exhausted sigh, running his fingers through his black hair. It’s a force of habit that the doctor does when he is tense or worried, one that Lu Han started to notice ever since the beginning of his frequent visits to the hospital wing after the injury. Dr. Do moves to the table against the wall, looking through the herbs and medicines on it in expectation of Lu Han’s arrival. When he turns back around he has a small clay pot of salve in his hand, something to help fade the scar on Lu Han’s stomach as well as reduce the bruising in the area. “But the Madame wants you start accepting customers again next week, and I have no choice but to give you permission since you clearly can move around without pain now.”

Something strange curdles in Lu Han’s gut when he hears these words, similar to dread but not quite there yet either. He bites down on his lower lip and stares at his bare knees instead of speaking, trying to understand why he feels so anxious. He knew all along that he would eventually have to continue his work as a courtesan—it wasn’t as if no one was asking about him, because they were. Once news of the Dragon Head picking a lowly prostitute as his escort of choice finally died down, the attention had drawn back to Lu Han like a magnet, latching onto news of his recuperation from the accident that occurred just a few weeks ago.

Despite the fact that the only life-threatening thing about Lu Han’s injury was the massive amount of blood loss he suffered, the truth of his wound has been blown completely out of proportion, the way all rumors do in the Red Light district. His return would simultaneously dispel the rumors as well as cause a surge of customers to flood in just to catch a glimpse of him and see how he is doing personally. El Dorado couldn’t wait much longer for his recuperation anyway; the more time he spent away from the outside world, the more people would forget about him, and the less attention the El Dorado would get. It was all like a big game of chess and everything was carefully planned. The Madame already gave Lu Han a talking to about how crucial his return would be.

Even knowing this, the fact that he would eventually have to return never really struck Lu Han until this very moment. For some reason he thought he could spend the rest of his days by Yixing’s side, not meeting Minseok’s watchful eyes during daylight and succumbing to his rough hands once the moon is up like nothing ever changed. His life has never been as eventful as it has been the past month, and Lu Han has to remind himself that he is still the same Lu Han that he always has been, the one that does not own himself but is owned by everyone else. Happiness is still a faraway concept, and even if sometimes it feels almost in reach, Lu Han is sure to push it away before he becomes too optimistic.

When Dr. Do leaves the room, Baekhyun follows inside shortly after with an easy smile on his face, his wholehearted personality pulling Lu Han out of his darkening thoughts. The former entertainer instructs Lu Han how to use the salve, watching over the way Lu Han binds his own waist in fresh white gauze and nodding in approval after double-checking them. The younger man then attempts to help the courtesan redress, slipping on and adjusting the fancy robes before trying to tie the sash. It proves to be difficult because Baekhyun hasn’t worn something so expensive in a long time, and he has absolutely zero idea how to wrap it, his brows furrowing cutely and making Lu Han laugh loudly at his expense. Kyungsoo had joined them earlier and easily tires of watching the nurse struggle, so he calls in Lu Han’s servants to do it instead, dragging Baekhyun away from Lu Han when the other continues to be persistent.

Lu Han remembers how Baekhyun used to be when he was still a courtesan, pitiful and jaded despite the forced laughter and fake smiles, and wonders if he’ll ever reach this kind of freedom on his own the way Baekhyun has. Lu Han doesn’t bother thinking too long on that; the only escape from here is death—it’s a mantra by now, something that he repeats to himself every night before sleeping—but he won’t leave Yixing as long as Yixing never leaves him, so Lu Han’s motivation to live continues on.

“From the lack of markings on your skin I see that you’ve stopped messing around with that Wu Fong member,” Dr. Do suddenly mentions offhand while scooping out some medicine to place in a smaller jar for Lu Han, catching Lu Han off guard with his composed tone despite what he was alluding too. “He was too rough to someone who is still recuperating from an injury.”

It’s not that they haven’t been sleeping together, but Minseok has become less violent. Lu Han thinks of confessing this, pursing his lips as he watches Kyungsoo continue to work. Lu Han knows Minseok is being gentle likely because he pities him, but Lu Han will take what he can get regardless. The courtesan’s cheeks heat up anyway in spite of himself, his gaze meeting Baekhyun’s involuntarily. The former entertainer looks back at him knowingly, like he understands the real truth. He probably does, to a certain extent—after all, only a prostitute can truly understand the circumstances of another. Lu Han finally decides not to say anything, waiting instead for the doctor to seal the medicine and hand it to him.

After receiving a salve container and an exact time for a follow up at the hospital wing a week from now, Lu Han is escorted back to his room. He keeps his head up and looks anywhere but at the watchful eyes following him through the walk past the gardens, just as he always does when he’s conscious enough to fake it. He has an image to keep up and now that his side no longer hurts him as much, and it’s not difficult to slip back into it. Finally they climb up the three flights of stairs, which unfortunately is still a challenge for Lu Han, the subdued ache of his wound transforming into an intense pain that makes his temple throb in exertion. Even though Lu Han knows it would be easier on him if the doctor to come up to his room instead, the courtesan misses the freedom of being able to roam El Dorado as he pleased, so instead he goes to the check ups himself even if it means extreme discomfort on his part.

Lu Han is out of breath and weak-kneed by the time they reach the top floor, vision tunneling and sweat dripping down his temple. He hadn’t taken the pain pills before going to the hospital wing so that Dr. Do could properly examine him, and now he really regrets refusing them from Baekhyun before leaving. It’s been a while since he last went without it and Lu Han really thought he would be fine now that the wound closed up, but obviously he is still severely weakened. At least when he starts accepting customers again he’ll just have to smile and look pretty for them in his room, making small talk and spending most of the time in bed instead of his feet. He’ll miss the freedom of spending the day as he pleased, but with his return to work he’ll be able to take his mind off of losing Yixing to the Dragon Head. It’s been nearly a month since Wu Fan’s first appearance but Lu Han can’t help but think the _Duizhang_ is planning something big; he isn’t known as the Devil for nothing.

As they continue to their destination, the servants escorting Lu Han assist him worriedly, the three of them practically holding him up as they head towards his room. Lu Han’s gaze lifts briefly and catches Minseok looking right back at him from all the way across the hall; he is too far to see any expression but Lu Han knows he’s watching him anyway and it makes his neck heat up from something other than pain. The servants help Lu Han into bed, dressing him in his night robes before leaving him alone with his thoughts as he drifts off to sleep. He thinks of Minseok, and how it’s been over a week since since the Talon revealed his scars and confessed to the murder of Lu Han’s father as well as so many other things that nothing feels the same any longer. It’s left them at a stalemate and Lu Han wishes he could talk to Yixing about these things, but he’s afraid to burden the younger man; Yixing had enough on his plate to deal with anyway. For now, Lu Han will make do with Minseok’s quiet disapproval.

 

x x x

 

Lu Han wakes sometime in the middle of the night to the sound of his bedroom door opening. He sits up automatically, wincing at the burn in his side. Although he fell asleep before he could take the pain medication, the sharp pain has simmered down to a dull throb. Lu Han knows now that he should stop climbing up the stairs until he is fully healed, or unless he takes medicine first, but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth anyway. Even in his last week of supposed freedom, Lu Han still somehow manages to find himself obstructed by something or another.

The courtesan brings his attention to the doorway where the familiar silhouette of Minseok has made an appearance, the door closing shut behind the older man and shrouding the room in black once again. Lu Han’s eyes adjust to the darkness as the Talon approaches him in the dark, making his way up to the loft until he is hovering at the foot of Lu Han’s bed.

“What did the doctor say?” Minseok prompts, arms crossed as he looks directly at Lu Han. The moonlight pouring in from the window highlights the right side of his face, his cloudy eye glowing. Lu Han finds it unnerving that Minseok’s seeing eye is nothing but a small glint in the shadow, and yet he can tell that the Talon is looking directly at him anyway.

Lu Han rubs the sleep from his eyes before biting his lower lip nervously, fingers curling into the blankets pooled at his waist. He contemplates not replying but they’ve been rather honest with each other the past few days, so Lu Han decides to tell the truth. “That I should to rest for another month, but I have to return to work next week anyway. Madame’s orders.”

Minseok’s expression hardens immediately, his gaze dropping and brow furrowing deeply. He appears lost in thought but Lu Han will probably go mad trying to understand what it could possibly mean, so instead he just settles for watching the way Minseok’s face changes. “Are you… okay with it?” the Talon finally asks, jaw locking as soon as he says the words, like it took a lot of effort to say. Lu Han appreciates it as much as he hates it; he doesn’t want flashes of the old Minseok to keep coming through like this because it will not end well for Lu Han otherwise. Lu Han has to remind himself that Minseok hates him before he answers.

“I don’t have a choice,” he says, pushing back his long hair. It slides back and falls over his shoulders, spilling against the sides of his face like pitch-black water. He’s been leaving it open now days and eating more instead of nibbling on his food. It’s only been a little over a week but he’s already feeling stronger because of it, starting to look more like how he used to before the incident. Minseok’s words really shook him out of his stupor, reminding Lu Han exactly why he doesn’t want to become like his mother, even if the path seems to eventually lead back to the same place regardless.

Minseok is watching him again, studying him carefully, and Lu Han’s skin feels like it’s on fire under his scrutiny. “You looked like you were in pain earlier.”

“I hadn’t taken the pain pills,” Lu Han admits quietly, fiddling with the blankets again. “Dr. Do needed to see how I was doing without them.”

“And now?” Minseok appears genuinely curious and Lu Han feels out of his element. It’s strange having this sort of conversation with Minseok, so casual and calm.

“It hurts a little, but that’s because I still haven’t taken them yet,” Lu Han finally replies, not sure what else to say. Minseok is still watching him and it makes him feel incredibly self-conscious and tongue-tied. He doesn’t think he has the ability to continue speaking.

Then something astonishing happens.

Minseok doesn’t even say another word; instead he walks over to Lu Han’s bedside and opens the drawer containing his salve and the pain medicine. He takes out the painkillers and pours water from the jug into a glass before handing it to the courtesan calmly, like he does this everyday. Lu Han is so in shock that he almost doesn’t take it, jerking forward suddenly and grabbing at it before Minseok changes his mind. Lu Han’s hands shake as he takes the pills, heart racing so fast it feels like it’ll explode out of his chest any second. He’s not even sure if he’ll be able to drink down the medication at this rate, but somehow he manages anyway, even under Minseok’s searching stare.

Lu Han almost wants to scream at him. Why on earth is he acting like this? Unless he hates Lu Han so much that he wants to make him suffer in this way; then truly Minseok must want to kill him slowly and painfully.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Minseok murmurs suddenly, and his voice is soft, so soft that it can’t possibly be his, and yet it is. “You’re wrong.”

“I… I am?” Lu Han wonders aloud, his voice equally as low.

Minseok sighs deeply, shoulders sagging as his body relaxes. “I haven’t been completely honest,” the Talon explains, and he’s looking straight into Lu Han’s eyes as he speaks. The light from outside is hitting his face head on now so Lu Han has no choice but to look right back at him. There are secrets hidden in every crevice of Minseok’s face, from the darkness pooling in his black eyes to the melancholy tucked into every little wrinkle. Lu Han couldn’t look away even if he tried, instead licking at his dry lips as he gapes back at the other man. Before Lu Han has a chance to think, Minseok reaches out to cup his cheek; his hands are rough and calloused against Lu Han’s skin, thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone.

Suddenly, Lu Han’s life flashes before his eyes when Minseok leans in and presses a soft kiss against Lu Han’s lips. It’s brief and quick, barely there and yet just enough to break him. The courtesan is so shocked that he doesn’t even kiss back, and when Minseok pulls away there is amusement swirling somewhere in the depths of his seeing eye. Lu Han is a hundred percent sure that he must be dreaming, but if it was really a dream then Minseok wouldn’t have let go of him already like he’s done now, hands buried in his pockets.

“What was that?” Lu Han asks, voice so small it barely even comes out of him. His heart is definitely trying to climb out of his throat now, beating so hard Lu Han afraid he might actually black out. Lu Han doesn’t want to get his hopes up, refuses to let it, because no matter what this is, it couldn’t possibly last. Too many times Lu Han thought he had happiness in his hands, only to open his palms and find nothing but emptiness.

“Take it as you will,” Minseok finally replies, ambiguous as always; he’s not smiling but Lu Han can feel the ghost of it anyway. How Minseok’s eyes can still be so damn expressive even if he only has one of them will never cease to amaze Lu Han.

After a few minutes of silence Minseok starts to turn away, but as usual Lu Han reaches out to grab him, and, just as usual, Minseok lets him. Lu Han wonders if it’ll always be like this between them—Minseok throwing out a line and Lu Han pulling at it with all his strength, getting what he wants in the end regardless of how the Talon feels about him in that moment. Lu Han truly hopes that this is the case because he’s starting to believe and it’s an absolutely _terrifying_ feeling to experience.

“Don’t leave so soon,” Lu Han tells him quietly. He’s shaking all over—his voice, his hands, his body; rejection at this moment would destroy him.

But Minseok stays anyway.


	13. Part Eleven: Snake Venom.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word count: 7,272

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?? You're still here???
> 
> ( **WARNING:**  it's been a year and a half since I last updated, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or style change - I tried my best to stay in tune, but obviously a lot of time has passed!)

Yixing leaves his entourage in the hallway as he enters the large room, Xiumin following closely behind. The Talon does not come in any further than the first set of couches on either side of them, taking a seat next to one of the other Talons and leaving Yixing alone on the center aisle. The escort is hyper-aware of the large double doors closing with a dull thud, trapping him inside with a roomful of the most dangerous people in the country. The sound seems to condemn his fate, but still he stiffly walks straight down the center while doing his best not to faint from how hard his heart is pounding.

He focuses on Wu Fan’s magnetic eyes that beckon him forward from where he sits, that dark gaze of his burning the areas where Yixing’s neck and shoulders are exposed before trailing down to appreciate the expensive robes that he himself had purchased. He looks quite proud that Yixing is wearing them, as he usually does. The Dragon Head rests alone in the center of a long emerald green couch dressed in a black suit and deep purple button down, the jacket of which is strewn over the back of the couch.

The first thing Yixing notices, aside from the fact that the older man’s shirt is mostly unbuttoned at the top, is that he has two new dragons on his chest in the spaces where there used to be only an intricate design. The open shirt also reveals white gauze that extends towards his right shoulder, veiled under the clothing but obvious enough to reveal that he is injured yet again—likely the reason for his weeklong absence this time around. A spike of fear strikes Yixing like lightening, the hairs on the back of his neck rising when he recalls how angry the Dragon Head had been the last time he was injured.

Despite this, Wu Fan appears very much relaxed; one endlessly long leg is crossed over the other with his fingers tapping on the seat of the couch in that way that he does when he’s contemplating something, calm and snakelike in manner as he usually is. As Yixing finally comes to a stop before him, one of Wu Fan’s Talons approaches from the side where he’d been standing guard of his leader.

“ _Duizhang_ , we should at least have had him checked for weapons first,” he says, glancing at Yixing with distrust in his eyes. “He could be a spy.”

Wu Fan only shakes his head dismissively, waving the Talon away. “No need. He fears me far too much to even dream of such a thing. And anyway, I’ve already indulged you with this much; allowing you all to encroach on my personal time with Yixing just to appease the senseless qualms of my brethren.” At that he smiles conspiratorially up at the escort, expectantly holding out his hand for Yixing to take. He’s nothing like the last time Yixing saw him, not a trace of that terrifying, monstrous anger that made his dark aura so unbelievably overwhelming that Yixing could hardly bring himself to breathe in his presence. This hapless divide in behavior is unsettling, keeping Yixing on his toes, unable to know what to expect; at least Wu Fan doesn’t seem much for mood swings, more commonly determined on a day-by-day basis, but just as worrisome nonetheless.

The Dragon Head continues to speak, even as he guides Yixing closer, still holding out his hand. “And anyway, just look at his pretty robes,” he comments, nonchalant as he tilts his head to appreciate the clothing up close. “You can hardly hide anything dangerous in something so elegantly… _racy_.” Wu Fan’s sharp grin is wolfish, his dark eyes shining playfully, and Yixing’s face heats up like a flaming torch, the added comment catching him in the middle of hesitantly reaching for the Dragon Head’s extended hand. He feels several pairs of eyes boring into his back, as if daring him to do something, but the _Duizhang_ was right. Yixing can barely look at the older man without feeling terrified and drawn to him at the same time. Plus, the escort’s expensive silk robes were most definitely made to be easily stripped from his body, pleasing and expensive to look at but not meant to be much of a hassle in the long run; Boa truly knew what she was doing when she chose this outfit for him, even in the middle of being as rushed as she had been earlier.

As Wu Fan pulls Yixing closer to straddle his lap—a familiar position that makes heat coil dangerously in his abdomen—Yixing fears the moment where he will need to undress in front of the scrutiny of others. He is acutely aware of how judged he is by both his peers as well as the public for managing to capture the attention of someone like the Dragon Head, let alone the man himself, and he’s not sure he can handle being scrutinized by Wu Fan’s close aids in this kind of situation. He still doesn’t know how he even managed to get himself here in the first place.

Yixing appeases his mortification by fixing his gaze on the _Duizhang’s_ new pair of dragons, trying to steady his nervous tremor by watching the vibrant purple and yellow intertwine with each other as if in combat. They roar tremendously at each other, one panting out billowing smoke as the other geysers boiling water from its gullet. The intricate design and colors are so fascinating that he loses himself in the hallucination. They seem to dance to a drum beat of their own, and the fact that they exist on skin that is warm and alive give the illusion that they, too, live and breathe just like real beings.

It takes the escort several minutes before he offhandedly glances up and realizes that Wu Fan is silently observing him, that familiar amused expression on his face as he studies Yixing’s every reaction—again, Yixing can’t even imagine why the _Duizhang_ finds him so interesting in the first place. He yelps at the attention, still unused to it and caught off-guard. His blush returns full force as he finds himself trapped in Wu Fan’s dark gaze, caught like a mouse in a trap.

“Curious, are we?” the Dragon Head questions aloud, voice so low that Yixing feels the rumble of it travel all the way down his spine until it makes his toes curl. His fingers scrunch up the shoulders of Wu Fan’s deep purple button-down, the back of his mind wary of the injury that lies hidden just under his right hand despite his mortification.

“S-Sorry,” Yixing stammers out immediately, remembering how intensely mindful the older man is of immediate answers. Yixing had mentioned this quirk to Lu Han before and the courtesan had said something along the lines of how it is harder to lie when you don’t have time to think about it; Wu Fan had even revealed to Yixing himself how much he despises disloyalty, which makes sense considering how tightly-knit gangs tend to be—especially in the triad, where slip-ups are synonymous to death. “I-I didn’t m-mean to stare…”

“Not many people have that luxury,” the Dragon Head hums in acknowledgement as he nods yieldingly, lifting his free hand to have it rest on Yixing’s waist. His touch burns through the thin cloth of the robe, igniting Yixing’s skin in a way that reminds him just how much he craves being touched in the gaps between Wu Fan’s visits. The Dragon Head’s other hand trails up to push back Yixing’s carefully brushed hair, mussing it so that it lies more naturally. He then moves on to cup Yixing’s cheek, wide thumb grazing the ghostly dip of Yixing’s hidden dimple before pressing down lightly on his lower lip to part his mouth. Yixing is so engrossed that he almost misses Wu Fan’s next words, the _Duizhang’s_ sharp gaze like the edge of a knife precariously tracing paths over his skin. “My Talons have a habit of killing those who stare too long.”

Yixing flinches at that sentence, suddenly recalling their audience, but he is so dizzy from the attention of Wu Fan’s gaze as well as his large hands that it becomes too hard for him to concentrate on anything but the Dragon Head as well as the feeling of his body against Yixing’s. He wonders if somehow all of this was a part of the _Duizhang’s_ heinous plan, to suffocate a prostitute’s sex-conditioned body like a snake coiling around its prey, watching and waiting before swallowing him whole.

Yixing doesn’t know when he became so desperate for him, how he became so completely addicted; he’s had to take sleep medications to calm himself the nights after Xiumin had caught him and Lu Han, Dr. Do not quite understanding the root of Yixing’s dilemma even with Baekhyun looking back at the escort knowingly from behind the doctor’s shoulder. The former courtesan had even privately come up to the Dragon Room to give tips of self-pleasure to barrage the worst nights, although it never quite hit the spots that Yixing needed them too.

Somehow, it doesn’t feel at all like it’s some random coincidence; everything about Wu Fan is so incredibly pre-meditative, right down to the way he smiles without a hint of anything human in his eyes, so it’s not such a hard concept to believe. It’s part of what makes the Dragon Head so terrifying yet intriguing at the same time—one doesn’t toil their way to the top without learning to hide some tricks up their sleeve, and Wu Fan is the prime example of one such case. He always seems to have cards up his sleeve, so many steps ahead that it becomes impossible to tell what’s a game and what’s reality.

In an unexpected turn, Wu Fan suddenly shifts to guide Yixing’s mouth to his, distracting the escort from his thoughts yet again—whether on purpose or not, all reason blurs into the background at the hot press of the Dragon Head’s lips against his, soft yet bruising in the wake of his strength. He licks into Yixing’s mouth languidly, tasting him like a snack as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Yixing finds himself growing drunk the longer the kisses last, the gaps in between which he breathes depriving his brain of oxygen, yet he never tries to push away. Instead he lets his vision goes hazy and watery, turning his tense body into mush as he shudders out one needy gasp after another.

The _Duizhang’s_ kisses are as hypnotic as his eyes, those large hands of his sliding down Yixing’s sides to wrap around his waist and pull their bodies flush. The escort forgets about the wound on the older man’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the Dragon Head’s neck in an effort to get even closer. Wu Fan hisses against Yixing’s lips but doesn’t do anything to stop him, sucking Yixing’s lower lip into his mouth before pulling back with his teeth. Yixing urgently gulps in deep breaths, chest heaving as he tries to gather his bearings. As usual he isn’t given a chance to return to himself, shivering at the cool feeling of air against his skin as the top half of his robes are slid off his body. The blunt edges of Wu Fan’s teeth slide along the sensitive skin of his jaw, leaving a trail of little bites down his neck before tracing kisses over his exposed collarbones.

Yixing whimpers impatiently, rolling his body forward in a desperate motion as he starts to harden under the increasingly maddening curtain of his clothing. At that he can feel the Dragon Head’s toothy grin against his skin, clearly very aware of his effect, that every contact point on Yixing’s body burns hotter and hotter the longer Wu Fan prolongs the inevitable. “I’m sure you’ve come prepared,” Wu Fan murmurs against the base of Yixing’s throat. The escort trembles in his hold, nodding urgently, body aching wantonly at the thought of being split open by the Dragon Head after a week of only his thoughts to keep him satisfied. Wu Fan pulls back to take in Yixing’s watery eyes and the timidly eager look on his face, and a pleased smirk pulls at the corner of the _Duizhang’s_ lips. His dark eyes glint dangerously, _hungrily_ , in the dim lighting, and a spike of panic catches Yixing off-guard at the sudden thought of being eaten alive by this man—along with an insane feeling of desire that sends yet another shiver down his spine.

Wu Fan’s hand skims back up Yixing’s body, thumb brushing over on a nipple and making the escort’s cock twitch embarrassingly, before he grasps the back of the younger man’s neck to draw him close enough to press his lips against Yixing’s ear. “As much as I’d love to devour you right here,” he begins, breath hot and voice so low that Yixing feels it rolling around in his stomach, the pressure of his wet mouth against his the escort’s skin like lighter fluid. “I’m not actually able to move my shoulder as much as I’d like, which of course means nothing much can be done here tonight, much to my chagrin.”

Yixing’s heart sinks immediately to the depths of the ocean, tightening his hold around the Dragon Head. He shakes his head slightly, wanting to beg otherwise—he’s not sure he can wait, not anymore, not after this—but he bites his tongue to keep himself from speaking out of turn. Wu Fan chuckles then, like he understood the escort’s dilemma.

Before Yixing can even think, he feels Wu Fan’s other hand rub against his dick over his robes. Yixing yelps, his entire body reacting as he pushes up against the touch, but Wu Fan’s hold on the back of his neck keep him pressed against his uninjured shoulder. The escort lets out soft, needy sobs as the Dragon Head continues to rub him through the clothing pooled around his waist, twitching and reacting with every press as he continues to rest the front of his body against Wu Fan’s. He quakes and quivers as his hips jerk along to Wu Fan’s ministrations, feeling the tears on the corners of his eyes streak down his cheeks. He whines desperately when he feels Wu Fan’s thumb knead just under the crown of the oversensitive head of his cock, feeling rubbed raw through his robes but still good enough that he’s already leaking profusely. He can no longer stop himself from rocking into it, building up a shaky rhythm as heat coils tighter and tighter into his abdomen.

Just as his breaths start to shorten faster and faster, body so tense he can’t even hold onto Wu Fan anymore, the Dragon Head stops touching him. Yixing actually starts crying then, caught mid-sob when Wu Fan pulls him back so that he can kiss him again. Yixing drinks every kiss like parched man, mindlessly mouthing against the _Duizhang’s_ lips even after he’s stopped kissing him. Yixing pulls back dazedly, cock terribly raw and aching badly with need, and cheeks wet from his tears; he’s completely out of himself, unable to look away from the spellbinding stare of the Dragon Head as he watches him.

Wu Fan only chuckles then, wiping Yixing’s cheeks and again pushing back the escort’s sweaty bangs that had become matted to his forehead. He tilts up Yixing’s chin with his fingers, as if to examine him, eyes locked on his swollen mouth as if caught between kissing them again or just looking at them. He licks his own lips then, deep in thought. “I definitely don’t have enough time for this,” he finally says with a loath sigh, looking almost sorry. “Not with my shoulder like this.” He’s about to say something more, perhaps something dismissive that will have them part ways for who knows how long, but some part of Yixing—likely his lower half—can’t allow this to simply end like this, otherwise he might actually die of neglect.

“L-Last time!” he interjects before Wu Fan can speak, the bravery in his voice only stemming from his desperation to have any part of the Dragon Head on him, _in_ him, really anything, for just a little while longer. “I, ah, d-didn’t… um, get to f-finish what I w-was... d-doing…”

The Dragon Head pauses for a moment, a mixture of surprise at Yixing speaking so suddenly as well as confusion as he thinks back, before his dark eyebrows raise in recollection. He looks rather impressed by the impulsive offer, that amused gleam in his eyes back again as he glances at Yixing’s mouth once again. The interest swimming there makes Yixing’s cock twitch again. Before his offer can be refused, Yixing quickly shuffles himself backwards in eagerness, positioning himself so that he’s kneeling on the floor between the Dragon Head’s knees. His shaky hands quickly reach for the belt of Wu Fan’s pants, chewing on his lower lip as he asks for permission with his eyes.

Wu Fan contemplates a little longer, clearly still surprised by Yixing’s behavior yet finding it entertaining, like this somehow was also a part of his plan to begin with. Yixing doesn’t know at this point with only one thing on his mind, and he nearly sobs in relief when Wu Fan finally, _finally_ , gives him a small nod of approval. The Dragon Head watches Yixing carefully as the escort fumbles with his belt, the intricately designed silver clasp smooth against his fingers.

The _Duizhang_ is is completely flaccid in his slacks, which should have been Yixing’s first indicator of how things were about to go down, all things considered, but he scoots closer to begin mouthing at the head without thinking too much about it. He sucks it into his mouth, focusing on the tip before taking it in deeper, bobbing his head as he allows more and more to fit inside of him. He can feel Wu Fan’s dark eyes carefully observing him, his face tingling from the attention, but unlike last time the Dragon Head isn’t clenching his fingers into Yixing’s hair and yanking him closer. Instead he sits relaxed against the backrest, uninjured arm slung over the back while his other hand pushes Yixing’s bangs out of his eyes again. His fingers slide down to Yixing’s jaw, thumb rubbing the corner of the escort’s lips where it barely fits, stretching obscenely around his cock.

Yixing’s erection starts leaking again when Wu Fan presses his thumb inside alongside his dick, sliding along the edge before dragging his lower lip down. Right then he feels Wu Fan’s shoe press gently against his aching hardness, making him choke out a startled moan. Yixing pulls away with a pop, chin slick with spit and gasping for breath as he leans against the Dragon Head’s inner thigh and tries to regain some semblance of control. He sobs out another moan when Wu Fan presses harder, moving his foot in circles, and Yixing is so high strung that when he opens his eyes and accidentally makes eye contact, the interested look on Wu Fan’s face causes him come embarrassingly hard inside of his robes. He whimpers in liberation, tears collecting at the corners of his eyes as he finally shudders out his long-awaited orgasm, feeling his clothing stick uncomfortably to his skin.

With a breathy sigh, Yixing’s tense body relaxes, before he snaps back to reality when remembers that he’d completely stopped what he’d been doing before. When he straightens up to continue his ministrations, he realizes in that moment that Wu Fan is still startlingly limp in his hands. Yixing glances up again confusedly, jaw aching, and his heart lurches to find the _Duizhang_ smirking down at him. “I’m not very interested in an audience, Yixing,” he hums, still running his thumb over Yixing’s smarting, pink mouth. “It’s hard to get excited with my men in the room. Although it was quite entertaining to watch you fall apart anyway.”

Blood rushes to Yixing’s face when he remembers, suddenly hyper-aware of the other people in the room that he’d completely forgotten about, all of them disappearing out of his mind in the wake of Wu Fan’s hypnotizing gaze. Incredibly mortified, Yixing carefully tucks the Dragon Head back into his slacks before ducking into his thigh, shoulders hunched as he stares down at his soiled lap. Wu Fan continues to laugh, sympathetically patting Yixing’s hair. “Oh my, you didn’t happen to forget, did you?” he asks, sounding even more amused at the fact.

Yixing can’t even bring himself to voice his reply, nodding and wishing to disappear into the ground underneath him. Wu Fan’s low chuckles make Yixing’s entire body flush in shame, his fingers curling tightly into the Dragon Head’s neatly pressed pant leg. “Sorry,” the escort whispers, voice coarse, and he’s so busy looking down that doesn’t notice the Dragon Head’s gaze harden.

“Stand, Yixing,” the older man suddenly instructs, and Yixing, alarmed by the unexpected command, releases his hold and scrambles quickly to his feet. He clasps his hands in front of him, chewing on his bottom lip even though his jaw aches from trying so hard to take as much of Wu Fan into his mouth as he could, which despite Yixing’s previous experiences, was remarkably impossible. The _Duizhang_ must notice because he speaks up again, even more stern. “Stop biting down on your lips.”

Yixing follows his words again immediately, face hot. “S-Sorry,” he apologizes once more, chastised. He jumps when Wu Fan abruptly stands, accidentally looking up and meeting his gaze. This up close, the Dragon Head is daunting at full height, his stature so incredibly imposing that Yixing feels like an insignificant bug in his presence. More often than not the older man is seated in Yixing’s presence, and their size difference always makes the escort’s heart feel ready to leap out of his body, stuck in his throat and blocking his ability to speak—not that it was particularly good to begin with, but that was besides the case.

“I tire of your constant apologies, Yixing,” Wu Fan ruminates, looking extremely blasé. His expression is different from the way he was just seconds earlier, suddenly very uninterested and maybe even a little cross; the atmosphere is so cold now that it feels like Yixing is standing on thin ice. The escort stays frozen in place, staring up with wide, terrified eyes, too petrified to make another move in case this becomes his last moment on this godforsaken planet. Wu Fan looks down at Yixing without tilting his head in the least, dark eyes hooded in that snakelike manner of his. Yixing feels his insides freeze even more, like if he exhaled out right now his breath would come out as fog.

The Dragon Head finally shifts his hardened stare from Yixing to grab his suit jacket, shrugging it over his shoulders so that he won’t need to slip his arms into the sleeves and strain his injured shoulder. He then steps around Yixing to start making his way towards the door, his leather shoes echoing on the tiles. Yixing doesn’t dare turn around even when the sound stops, instead staring at the mantelpiece several meters behind the couch that Wu Fan had been seated on, knowing that he’s done something wrong and was without a clue how to fix it. Perhaps this truly will be the end of him, that once he’s left alone with the Talons, one of them will take his life. Yixing contemplates the benefits of such a situation until Lu Han’s anguished expression pops up in his mind, making sweat bead on the escort’s face as his hands clench into fists at his side.

He doesn’t get to entertain these thoughts for very long before the Dragon Head speaks again, his voice still containing that sharp edge that makes Yixing’s hairs stand on end. “Turn around,” _Duizhang_ instructs, and the escort stiffly turns immediately to face the older man’s broad back, trying to hide the tremors racking his nervous body. He unknowingly bites down on his lower lip again, but Wu Fan isn’t looking at him so he thankfully does not take notice. Yixing stops breathing when Wu Fan unexpectedly twists his neck to look over his shoulder at the escort, his gaze seeming to look right through Yixing the way it always seems to. His displeased expression is already gone, back to his default mischievous smirk. “There is less than an hour before El Dorado closes their doors to the public. Wait here until the halls are empty.”

Yixing nods rapidly, releasing his lip to reply. “Y-Yes, my l-lord,” he replies, louder than he intended to in his haste and making himself flinch. The Dragon Head’s smirk grows, that endless amusement back, before he tilts his head in goodbye before continuing his way out of the entertainment room with the rest of the Talons except for Xiumin flanking him from all sides. None of them give Yixing a second glance, for which the escort is extremely thankful, even more aware of his messy state now that he no longer has Wu Fan’s every little move to distract him.

When the Dragon Head is out of the room, Yixing falls to the floor, legs suddenly too weak to hold him up. He only realizes how hard his heart is racing once he’s staring at the floor again, feeling suddenly too lightheaded to stay upright. He makes a mental list of the things he needs to watch for the next time Wu Fan visits, like apologizing as well as reining in his own desires because he honestly just made a fool of himself the entire visit; however, the _Duizhang_ seemed to enjoy that, as he never seems to care much about sex as much as watching Yixing squirm. He still doesn’t know what exactly makes him so interesting to tease, but for now he breathes deeply because he knows that he will live to see Lu Han another day. He feels tears of relief prickle the corners of his eyes.

_I have no desire to harm you._

Yixing’s eyes shoot open at the sudden recollection of the words that Wu Fan had said to him that first fateful day, finally finding peace in them as he allows himself to lose the tension that had built up in his body in the past couple of minutes. If the Dragon Head wanted to kill him, he would have done so back then; it makes the escort realize that he needs to stop thinking of Wu Fan as the harbinger of death when he has already reassured Yixing several times that so long as he remains loyal, he won’t die. Yixing thinks of the _Duizhang’s_ warm fingers on his face, the way he always watches Yixing like he is the most entertaining thing in existence, and feels his face flush.

Next time, Yixing decides. Next time, he will fear less.

 

x x x

 

Next time arrives sooner than expected.

Two weeks is not nearly enough time for Boa to ingrain in Yixing the methods in which to calm himself in the presence of the _Duizhang_ —a process of which could take months, or even years, for someone as anxious as Yixing. Everyone assumed yet again that Wu Fan would leave a much longer gap like before when he did not make his presence known the following day, but apparently, his visiting patterns will continue to remain unpredictable and erratic, regardless of his business dealings. The Dragon Head runs on his own schedule, and conversely, everyone else runs on his schedule as well; which is why Yixing is currently in a state of anxiety as he entertains him in the Dragon room, but not in the way that he is used to.

Yixing trails after Wu Fan as they peruse through the different rooms in the private suite, the gang leader finally taking the time to look around and take in the surroundings. As usual he doesn’t speak much, more of an observer as his eyes flit over the superfluous decorations, a mixture of boredom and interest on his handsome face as he picks up random items before replacing them again. They stroll under the arches in the dining area that lead into the library nook nestled in the back corner of the Dragon Room, the bright light of the chandelier of the room previous fading into darkness highlighted only by the moonlight pouring in through the single window. Yixing’s small study desk is propped against it, snugly fit between two shelves—it’s the only wall space in the room that isn’t concealed behind mahogany bookcases, of which every single shelf is detailed with small items and hundreds of books that Yixing can’t ever imagine himself finishing.

The _Duizhang_ tugs on the thin chain of the intricate paper lamp, properly illuminating the wooden surface with a quiet clink. “Have you made progress in your reading efforts?” he probes, sifting through the small stack of study books atop Yixing’s desk. The older man picks up the red and gold book titled ‘ _The Orchid Pavilion_ ,’ the one Wu Fan had previously quoted out loud to Yixing when he’d been struggling to read it. Yixing still hasn’t been able to read past the first sentence of it because of the difficult Chinese text, but otherwise he’s finally started reading some of the easier books—albeit very slowly, but progress is still progress.

“Y-Yes, my lord,” Yixing stutters out, watching the older man flip through the pages before setting it back down with the others. Wu Fan unexpectedly turns to look at him just then, leaning comfortably against a shelf with his arms crossed as he watches the escort with that little smirk of his. Yixing’s stomach does a flip at the sudden attention, eyes widening even as he tries to force himself to calm down. He can’t help the little jolt of surprise that makes him let out a small squeak, his entire body on fire from embarrassment when the Dragon Head chuckles at his reaction. For a while he just stares at Yixing, as if contemplating something. Slowly his brow begins to furrow deeper, that playful glint fading into something more thoroughly examining.

Yixing timidly ducks his head so that won’t have to look directly back, although the curiosity nags at him continuously. When he looks up again, Wu Fan appears even more somber. The Dragon Head immediately takes notice that Yixing is looking at him again, those eyes of his capturing Yixing’s gaze and pinning him in place so he can’t escape. “How did you end up like this, Yixing?” he questions, the question so unexpectedly intimate that the escort is caught off-guard. “This kind of thing is not uncommon, yet I feel that with you… it’s not that at all. Am I right?”

The escort gapes back at the older man, unsure how to respond even as Wu Fan waits patiently for an answer. He’s right though; Yixing can’t even imagine how he could possibly guess when there are no records or documents proving his existence, his life, of _him_. Just then, thoughts of his family pop into his head, his father’s disgusted expression and his mother’s ashamed one; he remembers his siblings, who would rather pretend he did not exist, as well the early mornings Yixing would watch them from where he worked in their dying crop field as they trekked to school without him because his parents were too humiliated by him to send him back. He did not even feel that betrayed when one especially cold winter he learned that he’d been sold so they could have dinner, even as fear gripped his body as he was dragged away from them in chains by men who spoke in accented tongue. It had always been more of a matter of when rather than why because there was never enough money and Yixing had always been a burden, taking up too much space where he was never even wanted. His parents didn’t watch when they took him away, more preoccupied by the small amount of money they’d acquired by selling him; even the poor had their pride, and Yixing’s existence was downright shameful.

The years after that day only grew worse as time passed, from working in the slave cycles until his skin blistered and nails broke, body covered in bruises and cuts, to those long years he spent as a sex slave, crying under men who paid pocket change to fuck someone who was drugged to oblivion. He often finds himself wondering how different his life would have been if his brain worked the way it was supposed to; the thought makes his skin crawl, bile burning his throat from the self-hatred that made him want to kill himself so badly.

Yixing jumps slightly when he suddenly feels fingers on his jaw, lifting his head so that he looks up. His mind returns to the present to find Wu Fan standing extremely close to him, a penetrating expression on his face. “Is it that unpleasant?” he whispers, and Yixing’s stomach flops even as he lowers his gaze once more, realizing he must have looked as physically sick in that moment as he felt on the inside from the memories alone.

“No,” he answers, voice hoarse; the phantom scars on his wrists are suddenly burning, and an unbearable itch to carve so deeply into his skin that he can’t possibly heal this time begins to slowly overwhelm him. “No, I’m just stupid.” His voice comes out steady then, likely because these words have come so many times from not only his own mouth, but also by countless others. They have a weight to them, tied to his body like bricks, slowing him down with every breath he takes.

Wu Fan simply hums indifferently, still studying Yixing like a specimen, his eyes on Yixing’s skin burning more than the urge to kill himself. “Is that so,” he murmurs, and their eyes meet again. It feels like time has stopped in that moment, their faces only a few inches apart as Wu Fan stares down at him.

Yixing finds himself speaking out of turn before he can even think to stop himself. “W-Why me?”

The Dragon Head doesn’t reply right away, his hooded black eyes filled with incomprehensible thoughts. It takes him so long to respond that Yixing wonders if he’s being ignored, the areas on his chin where Wu Fan’s fingers grip him starting to ache in a way that tells him he will likely bruise later. “Well,” he begins, and Yixing’s entire body tenses in fear of his answer despite being the one who wanted to know in the first place. “Why not?”

The escort’s stomach curdles painfully from his question remaining unanswered, swallowing thickly to hide his disappointment; some part of him had hoped Wu Fan would give him a reason, something that would make Yixing seem worthwhile, but all he manages to learn is that there might not be any reason at all. He struggles to respond, but no words leave his mouth, and he starts biting on his lips again. He’s startled when Wu Fan pulls his lower lip free from his teeth with his thumb, releasing Yixing’s face afterward.

“This is twice you have not answered me, Yixing,” he says as he saunters out of the library area into dining room again, hands sliding into his pockets. He does not look behind, and Yixing scrambles after him, skin prickling because he fears being in trouble. “Not a smart move for someone who fears me.”

“I-I’m sorry, I j-just—” Yixing stops speaking immediately, slapping his hands over his mouth the second he realizes he’s just apologized. Now in the bedroom, they both have stopped moving at this point, Yixing not even breathing as terror wracks his entire body, eyes wide with terror glued to Wu Fan’s unmoving back. “I-I mean, um, ah—” he chokes on his words, trying to amend his mistake even as his head spins in panic. “I d-don’t k-know what, what to s-say!”

It takes another few seconds before Wu Fan finally continues moving, but what’s truly frightening is that Yixing still can’t see his face, can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling, and it’s so nerve-wracking that he might die of from stress. The Dragon Head calmly hangs his jacket on the coat rack next to side table before taking a seat on the bed, and his expression from this distance looks quite calm. Somehow that alone is more chilling than before and Yixing does not move a single muscle, still staring as his heart prepares to beat itself to death against his ribcage.

Wu Fan sits against the headboard, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his lap; his eyes are closed, almost as if he plans to sleep. “Yixing,” he calls suddenly, and Yixing’s gaze snaps to his face as he hurries over to Wu Fan without a second thought. The Dragon Head opens his eyes slightly, watching the escort shuffle over to him, standing attention next to the bed. Yixing squirms under his gaze, fingers clenching tightly into his robes in a failed attempt to calm himself.

“Y-Yes, my l-lord?” he hurriedly replies, reminding himself to speak when addressed.

“It appears that you underestimate yourself,” Wu Fan tells him, still observing the escort. “You are quite brave.”

Confused, Yixing nervously bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from doing it to his lips. “I d-don’t understand, m-my lord.”

The Dragon Head smirks a little, holding his chin as he continues to make Yixing fidget with his eyes. “Standing up to a man who holds a gun that has been recently fired is hardly considered a small act.”

Yixing’s brow furrows in bewilderment for a moment when he suddenly recalls the day they first met all those weeks ago, when he’d confronted the cocky member of the Wu Fong who had hurt Lu Han. The one the _Duizhang_ shot and killed without batting an eyelash before ending the conflict. Yixing purses his lips, fists clenching in frustration. “B-But you saved me. I… I d-didn’t do anything b-but… cower in f-fear…”

“Showing loyalty to your friend even when you fear for your own life… now how isn’t that brave?” Wu Fan muses, still smirking; his eyes are playful, the amusement clear on his face. Yixing’s cheeks turn red at the sudden compliment, feeling extremely shy but unable to look away as the older man continues to speak. “Unfortunately, a person like that is hard to find these days, Yixing. It makes me… _incredibly_ greedy.”

The _Duizhang’s_ expression transforms into one of desire, and Yixing feels as though is being engulfed by the hypnotizing vortex of his black gaze, his body immediately to heating up. He quivers as he hugs himself to shield himself from Wu Fan’s hungry gaze, not realizing that he’s doing so automatically even as he aches to be closer to the Dragon Head. Wu Fan doesn’t indulge either of them however, his endless interest in Yixing making him ask yet another question, even as his eyes rake down the escort’s form. “What of your family, Yixing? Are they like you?”

Yixing shakes his head. “T-They… died in the, the Guang—” Yixing wrestles with the word a few times, sounding strange from his mouth before it finally comes out somewhat right. “G-Guangzhou fire t-tragedy.” He remembers picking out their familiar names in the paper, along with hundreds of others that he couldn’t read. In that moment, he started to believe that perhaps karma might be real, guilty to feel as glad as he did to know that the people who left him for dead were gone while he remained alive. Yixing recalls that twisted sense of joy he felt from the day he found out about their deaths, and how reminiscent that sensation is to how he feels every time the Dragon Head comes to visit him.

“Oh? How curious,” Wu Fan expresses, leaning back more comfortably against the bedframe as he continues to watch Yixing with deep interest, head slightly tilted like he can’t quite believe what he’s just heard. Yixing looks back at him searchingly, feeling concerned over what the older man means. “It appears we share a similarity… mine died in Guangzhou as well.” Stunned, Yixing gapes at the Dragon Head; he would never have guess such a thing. It was a strange coincidence indeed. Before he can think of something to say, Wu Fan waves his hand indifferently, promptly brushing away the revelation as he is already losing interest. “Let us not speak of the dead, Yixing. I have no time for those who have passed. Come, let me enjoy you while we are still alive.”

His roguish smirk as he says this makes Yixing’s entire body tingle from his head to his toes, leaving a trail of fire, and Wu Fan holds out his hand for the escort to take in the same way he has done before. Yixing accepts it timidly, allowing himself to be led closer into Wu Fan’s arms so that he can climb onto the bed as well. He cries out in alarm when his world turns over, abruptly finding himself on his back as he stares up wide-eyed at the Dragon Head, the older man haloed by the multicolor moonlight coming in through the frescoed glass panes along the wall. Their faces are incredibly close, gazes meeting just before Wu Fan leans in to kiss him deeply, tilting his head pushing closer to fit himself perfectly atop Yixing. The escort moans between each meltingly hot press of lips against his, hips jerking upwards as he makes more space for the older man to rest himself between his thighs.

Wu Fan kisses him like he’s trying to rob the breath from his lungs, which is entirely plausible, his entire body trembling as his brain does a mental spiral from the intensity of the kisses. When the Duizhang pulls away, it’s to bite on Yixing’s lips before running down the escort’s neck, stripping the younger and at the same time leaving a trail of bites down to his collarbones. Yixing’s back arches, moaning yet again but louder this time, his entire body on fire as his robes are fully discarded. The bites make him shudder and shake as Wu Fan maps every inch of Yixing’s skin with his teeth, before suddenly pushing him away so that he rests on his knees and looms over Yixing.

Cool air settles over Yixing’s sweltering bare skin, contrasting with the lava pooling in his lower abdomen in anticipation. His heart races a mile a minute as Wu Fan unbuttons his shirt to once more reveal the sea of battling dragons covering his torso and arms, utterly spellbinding as every muscle in the _Duizhang’s_ body gives each of the dangerous serpents a life of their own. He truly looks beastly then, staring down hungrily with those frighteningly dark eyes of his that never seem to reflect any light and yet are sometimes so full of expression, examining Yixing like he intends to devour every last bit of him.

As he swoops down to reclaim the escort’s mouth, a part of Yixing fears truly being eaten alive.

The other part eagerly anticipates it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my fucking gmail was connected to my mac and actually saved the plot, ending, and sequel for this fic despite my computer crashing. I don't know how or why but I'm not even going to question it, I'm just gonna take it as a sign that this fic deserves an ending, so here I am an entire year later! Updates will be slow, but better than nothing!
> 
> (Those who don't know, my mac died last year and I lost everything on it, including this fic. I had given up, but now, well... how can I?)


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